


This Silver

by BigSciencyBrain



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Arranged Marriage Trope, Because I can, Canon? What Canon?, Genderfluid Jotnar Steve, Homophobic Asgard, Look no further for all your trope-y romance goodness, M/M, doing it WRONG guys, fantastic biology, maintains most of the plot of Thor, really bad sex, sexually inexperienced Loki, this fic is not a sex ed lesson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 02:10:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5767276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigSciencyBrain/pseuds/BigSciencyBrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Thor goes to Jotunheim after his thwarted coronation, Odin exchanges Loki for peace with Laufey. Loki finds himself unexpectedly married to Laufey's son, the Prince of Jotunheim.</p><p>Prompt from Zigraves: <i>Jotnar!Steve and (culturally deviant) Asgardian!Loki? Assuming that Loki would still be /Loki/ even if fully Asgardian, and that Frost Giants aren’t necessarily as evil as the myths make them out to be.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"All-Father," Laufey's voice rumbled in the frosted air. "You look weary."

Behind Thor, Loki tensed. They were all trying to watch the crowd of Frost Giants around them without taking their eyes off of the All-Father and what was unfolding between the two monarchs.

Odin swayed; Sleipnir struggled to find purchase on icy stone. "Laufey. End this now."

"Your boy sought this out."

"You're right," Odin agreed with an unusual lack of hubris. "These are the actions of a boy. Treat them as such. You and I can end this. Here, now. Before there is further bloodshed."

"We are beyond diplomacy now, All-Father." He stopped when a second Frost Giant rose to his side on a sweep of ice. Laufey turned his head, listening as the warrior spoke in his ear, then swept a cold, calculating gaze over the Asgardians. The warrior beside him retreated. Laufey returned his attention to Odin. "You were favored with two sons."

"Indeed," Odin said warily.

"Jotunheim has but one Prince."

Loki felt a shiver along his spine. Instinctively, he didn't like where the conversation was leading. Odin had already chosen Thor as the golden son, the heir to the throne, and Loki was all too aware of what little would be left over for him. It was half the reason he'd let the Frost Giants into the weapons vault; once Thor ascended the throne, Loki would be redundant and no longer needed. His chest tightened when he saw Laufey turn his gaze once more toward them.

"If it is a bargain you seek," Odin began, his tone conciliatory.

"My son seeks a mate and _your_ son has caught his eye." Laufey nodded slightly. "You have indulged your boy in his sport. Allow me to indulge mine."

"As my heir, he is promised to another."

"Not that son." Laufey's gaze settled squared on Loki. "This is my bargain, All-Father. You may go and they may go with you. All but your second son, he will remain here. An offering of peace between our Realms."

It was as if all the air in the Nine Realms had turned to fire and Loki's lungs were burning with it. Odin did not turn, did not as much as glance toward Loki before he nodded. Strong hands grabbed hold of Loki's arms and shoulders. His boots slipped on the ice as he was hauled away from Thor. He thought to cry out but Odin's clear dismissal kept him silent; how easy it must have been for him to rid himself of Loki when such a perfect opportunity presented itself. Sacrificing an unwanted extra son to absolve Thor of his idiocy and gaining peace with Jotunheim in one fell stroke; it was so neatly efficient that Loki himself might have planned it.

Thor was the only one to protest but the blood pounding in Loki's ears made it impossible to hear his words. The Bifrost came and tore them away, leaving Loki alone and surrounded by Frost Giants. 

He thought first to fight, to the death if possible, since that would be preferable to being consort to a Jotun prince. How the court of Asgard would laugh, how they would mock him at their comfortable distance. His face burned with shame and embarrassment, already imagining the barbed words and, worse, their pity. Poor Loki, given away without a thought, to be used as a mare; given to a Fate worse than death by his own father in order to protect Thor. His rage kept him from fighting back as the Frost Giants led him roughly away from the edge of the cliff. 

Because dying here, on Jotunheim, would not be vengeance enough.

**

"Father, you cannot leave Loki to-"

Odin shouted Thor into silence. "Do you realize what you've done? What you've started?”

“I was protecting my home.”

“You cannot even protect your friends.” He gestured sharply toward Fandral. “How can you hope to protect the kingdom? Get him to the healing room. Now!"

“There won't be a kingdom to protect if you're afraid to act. The Jotuns must learn to fear me, just as they once feared you.”

“That's pride and vanity talking not leadership. You've forgotten everything I taught you, about a warrior's patience.”

Thor surged forward, his terror for Loki's fate overriding his respect for the All-Father. "While you wait and be patient, the nine realms laugh at us. The old ways are done. You'd stand giving speeches while Asgard falls."

"You are vain, greedy, cruel boy," Odin snarled at him.

"And you are an old man and a fool!" Thor roared.

Odin looked away, his countenance falling. "Yes. I was a fool, to think you were ready. And your brother has paid the price for your arrogance and stupidity." He stepped down from the dias, approaching Thor with grim intent. "You have opened these realms to the horror and desolation of war. You are unworthy of these realms, you are unworthy of your title, you are unworthy of the loved ones you have betrayed. I now take from you your power, in the name of my father and his father before, I, Odin All-Father cast you out!"

**

The Jotuns took Loki to what could be considered a palace. It was large and cold, carved out of rock and ice, and Loki was surprised, but grateful, to find himself in a complex of chambers that were heated with enormous fireplaces. What fuel they burned, he couldn't determine, but the pale fires gave off just enough warmth to take the chill from the air. He wasn't left alone for long. The second group of Jotuns who arrived were no less frightening or hideous, but they appeared to be domestic servants of a kind. 

He saw greater variability in their size and appearance than he'd seen in Laufey's court, leading him to believe Laufey must keep the most vicious and monstrous near him. Although most had dark hair, there were others with golden, red, and even white hair. The warriors must deliberately shave or remove their hair, possibly to ensure it was no distraction in battle.

When he realized they intended to bathe and dress him, he gritted his teeth against their poking and prodding, but submitted. The bath water was warm and perfumed. It turned his stomach to realize he was being prepared for the Jotun prince in such a manner. Once they'd washed every inch of him, leaving him red faced and humiliated, they tugged and pushed him into an outfit that was hardly more than a woman's skirt and a cape. He felt like livestock on display at market. Every slight, every indignity he suffered at their hands, he added to the growing tally of wrongs done to him by the All-Father; by Thor; by Asgard herself. He poured all of his rage and his fear into that list and his thirst for revenge. Holding his head high, he made no protest as he was led from the chambers to an enormous Hall.

A grand feast opened up before him, the air thick with the aromas of cooking meat and the tang of fermented grain. He ignored the cheering and salacious howling as he was led to a raised dias where Laufey sat. To his side was the Frost Giant he’d seen approach Laufey before; he was broad shouldered and barrel chested with decorative armor plating over his arms and shoulders. This was undoubtedly the Prince. Loki looked at the Jotun as little as possible, choosing to keep his eyes on the floor instead. 

“Give me your name, little prince,” Laufey said and Loki thought he heard laughter in his voice.

Squaring his shoulders, he met Laufey’s gaze squarely. “I am Loki.”

Laufey seemed even more amused. He gestured to the other at his side. “This is my son, Prince Steivardur.”

Loki didn’t bother trying to wrap his mouth around that tangle of vowels. He would find a way to free himself from this prison eventually and he had no intention of getting to know the Jotun Prince. 

“You are unworthy of him,” Laufey continued. He paused when the Prince grumbled something unintelligible – Loki’s breath caught in horror as he wondered if the Jotun Prince could even _speak_ \- and his demeanor softened slightly. “You are weak and unfit for this Realm. You will not last, child of summer's Realm. But there is little harm in allowing you to stay until he has tired of you.”

Anger burned like a hot coal at the pit of Loki’s stomach. If Laufey spoke the truth and Loki was not expected to survive the endless winter of Jotunheim, then the bargain for peace with Asgard was no bargain at all. Had the All-Father known? Had he known that Loki would be doomed to die here, perhaps thrown out into the icy wasteland once the Prince grew bored with him, as though he were a child’s toy. Once that happened, there would be nothing to prevent Laufey from returning to his call for war against Asgard and Thor, who was likely facing no repercussions for his part in this farce, would be all too willing to oblige him. 

The Jotun Prince stood and Loki thought he appeared smaller than he’d been when he’d approached Laufey before. Still, he towered a full two heads height over Loki when he reached Loki’s side. Kneeling, the Prince was still nearly at eye level with Loki.

Another Frost Giant wearing an elaborate robe approached them, holding out a carved bowl for them to drink from. Loki thought it strange but followed the wordless prompting of the Prince to drink. The bowl was filled with a rich, spiced mead that lit his stomach like lightning and went straight to his head. After the mead, there was a thick, filling biscuit broken in half for them to share. Loki had to use both hands to eat it, while the Prince held his in one enormous hand and grinned like a fool. When the food was eaten, the robed Frost Giant yanked on Loki’s arm left, pushing the heavy robe aside, and wrapped a length of leather into a complicated knot around his bicep, then repeated the action on the Prince. As a final act, he turned to Laufey expectantly.

Laufey stood slowly and then nodded. “Let them be bound and none but Death tear them asunder.”

The room, which had gone silent during the odd proceedings, now erupted into salacious cheering. As his side, the Jotun Prince got to his feet, still smiling broadly and raised his arms as though proud, even elated, that he’d accomplished something of importance. Loki felt frozen, terror beginning to make its way through the haze of mead.

Had he just gotten _married_?

He managed not to stumble as he was led from the Great Hall, still dazed. Marriage must be very different on Jotunheim. Was it customary to marry utter strangers? Perhaps his relatively short life expectancy negated the solemnity of such a bond, or perhaps a Jotun might have many wives, and husbands, without reprisal. He was keenly aware that he was likely to have different constraints and expectations as a Prince’s _husband_ than merely being his consort, though he couldn’t begin to guess at what those might be. 

The servants returned him to the chambers he’d seen previously and _locked_ him inside the bed chamber. Pulling the robe tighter around him, he considered using magic to dress himself more appropriately, preferably with a great number of knives, but thought it best to pretend to be more helpless than he was, at least, for the time being.

Alone, he made a thorough investigation of the room and found it not without practical appeal. The enormous bed was ornately decorated, with a great number of pelts and furs to provide warmth. There were books, though he doubted the idiot Prince could read. An archway carved from stone led to a bath. Tall windows gave him a view of the night sky and dark, barren landscape of this unnatural realm. Everything was large in scale, he noted, but also accessible for a man of his relatively smaller stature. He wondered if that had been done with him in mind or if the Frost Giants used multiple scales in their architecture and interiors for a particular reason. He found nothing that would help him escape the palace and survive the deathly cold outside. Shivering, he returned to the hearth in the bedchamber and settled on the heated stones before the fire. 

An opportunity would come. Until then, until he could find an escape, he needed only to survive.

Grimly, he forced himself to consider what that would entail. On Asgard, marriages between men were forbidden and sexual relationships between men were shameful, to be kept secret. Those who were discovered were often ostracized, losing friends and family both. As a result, he knew nothing about pleasing a man in bed, which might now prove to be key to his survival on Jotunheim. And who was to say anything he might assume about pleasure would even apply to a Frost Giant? He remembered Volstagg's shout of alarm when the Frost Giant's touch had burned him and wondered if consummating his revolting marriage would be physically possible without killing him. He shivered again, this time from the anxiety settling into his nerves. It would’ve been better to get it over with rather than let him sit and imagine increasingly degrading and horrific scenarios of what services the Jotun Prince might expect him to provide. He wished they’d at least left him a bowl of mead, perhaps an entire cask of it.

His nerves were stung tight as a bow when he heard laughter outside the door to the chambers. He scrambled to his feet, setting his shoulders back and bracing himself for what was coming next. The door opened and the Jotun Prince came through, still smiling and distinctly _shorter_ than Loki remembered him being. Loki frowned, his mind caught on this singular peculiarity as the Prince closed the doors and came toward the fireplace. He carried a jug and two ceramic chalices in his hands, clearly intending to continue his merry making.

“How is it Frost Giants can change size?” Loki saw the Prince stiffen and his smile waned. He’d managed to offend the Prince with his question. He blanched when the Prince set the cups on a nearby table and filled them from the jug. An apology, he thought, might ensure he wouldn’t be introduced to the Prince’s temper. He swallowed. “I know very little about your...people.”

The Prince held out a chalice, waiting for Loki to take it before he raised his own to his lips. He said nothing and Loki began to seriously wonder if he was, in fact, a mute. Stepping forward and invading Loki’s personal space, fingers the color of evening sky worked the clasp of the robe and spread the cloth to let it fall down Loki’s body. He dipped a finger into Loki's chalice and the liquid began to freeze, expanding upward beyond the sides as it crystallized. Then it reversed and melted back into the cup. The Prince lifted his finger to his mouth and sucked away the drink.

It was an answer to his question, after a fashion, though the demonstration did little to explain how the concept applied to Jotun physiology. Although, if ice was a willed thing, then perhaps he might survive his _wedding_ night after all. 

Desperately wanting to avoid the inevitable, he took a step back, nearly stumbling over the discarded robe and all but buried his nose in the chalice as he drank. What he'd thought to be more of the spiced mead was a thickly sweet ice wine with a flavor reminiscent of Asgard's bramble berries. He choked, coughing a few times, and then emptied the chalice. The Prince looked at him strangely, brows rising.

"Stee-var-dur? Was it?" Loki said, his voice catching in his throat.

"Call me Steiv." The Prince could speak after all and his voice was as low a rumble as Laufey's had been. It suited him, somehow, and resonated in Loki's chest in a way that wasn't unpleasant. 

He was silently, reluctantly grateful when the Prince took his chalice and refilled it. His back was chilled with the robe gone and he sidled a little closer to the great fireplace to stay warm. He could imagine that bedding a Frost Giant was likely to be akin to copulating with a block of ice and his stomach clenched with fear and revulsion. He hated the All-Father for allowing this to happen, for abandoning him so casually to be married - _married!_ \- to such a beast. It was a struggle to keep his expression in check while his heart beat rapidly and he felt as though he might vomit up the ice wine.

"Do you," his voice was hoarse and high with panic, which doubled his humiliation. "Do you require proof of any kind?"

The Prince's head tipped to one side. "Proof?"

"Proof that I am...that I haven't..." He fumbled for the words, wondering if the Jotun even had a concept of _virginity_. It was a wild conjecture anyway, extending what was customary in Asgardian marriages to this alien culture when he could be certain of nothing about their rites. The Prince was still watching him curiously, waiting for him to explain. "Proof that I've had no other lovers? No other...men." He added the last part as an afterthought, though he'd had no lovers at all.

The Prince's eyes widened. "Have you proof to give?"

Loki's face burned with embarrassment. He had no idea if there was anything he could provide, if it was needed. "Other than my word, no. I merely wish to avoid any misunderstanding if you had assumed or if it is required by your...customs. I have never lain with a man if, if that is a requirement."

Red eyes grew wider, though his expression otherwise seemed to soften. Loki buried himself in the chalice of ice wine again. His limbs were beginning to feel warm and heavy and the thoughts were growing fuzzy in his head. If he were lucky, he would be near to passing out when the Prince finally decided to take what was now his by right. Loki's head spun a little; he wondered how strong the ice wine truly was and if he should've declined the second cup. The alternative was submitting to the Prince sober and that thought was enough to convince him to finish the chalice down to the last drop. He thought he saw pity in the Prince's face, which only made him angry.

"Loki." His name sounded foreign when spoken in that voice. The Prince raised his hand to stroke a single finger down the outside of Loki's left arm. "You need not fear me."

"I don't," Loki snapped. The ice wine had loosened his tongue far too much. He was suddenly and irrationally furious with this idiot Prince and his patronizing attempts to assure Loki of his intentions. "The All-Father traded me for peace and I'm bound by his _bargain_ with Laufey. I did not desire this. I do not want to be here. But I cannot escape and have no hope of surviving without whatever crumbs of mercy you deign to show me." He could hear the increasing vitriol in his words but couldn't bring himself to stop talking. "I will not fight against you. I am not _stupid_. But do not expect me to give you a performance nor pretend to take pleasure in this. All I ask is that you simply get it over with."

The Prince stiffened, jerking back as though Loki had physically thrown the words in his face. His brows knit together, creating thick furrows. Loki thought the patterns over his skin might have darkened, just a shade or two. The Prince turned away sharply, leaving his chalice on the table without a word and storming out of the room. The door shut with enough force to shake the room.

"Where's that silver tongue now," he muttered. Being rebuffed on his wedding night was likely grounds for the Jotun Prince to toss Loki out into the night to freeze.

He pulled the robe around him again, wishing for his own clothing but not daring to dress himself in anything else. The ice wine had made him weary and his head was spinning from shouting at his _husband_. He laughed bitterly; the second option would've been to weep like a child abandoned in the wilderness, which wasn't too far from the truth. If he wasn't executed for failing to submit to the Prince then he would likely face punishment of another kind. 

With the robe clutched tight, he settled against the warmed stones, still shivering despite the fire, and tried to find a comfortable position. Perhaps the Prince would allow him a cushion to sleep on, like a dog; he didn't dare be so bold as to make use of the massive bed. Eventually, the ice wine drew him into a deep, dreamless sleep.

**

It was dark beyond the windows when Loki was woken from sleep by the return of the Prince's servants. They tugged and pulled at him, which made his head pound and swim unpleasantly, and subjected him to another perfumed bath. He was surprised when they provided him with a set of warmer clothing that covered most of his skin. It was strangely tailored, as though the seamstress had been unfamiliar with the pattern, but he was glad for the warmth provided by the thicker fabric. They left him with a tray of food and a pitcher of cool water, which helped ease the throbbing behind his eyes.

He ate and drank and wondered if they would attempt to poison him rather than wait until he froze to death from the omnipresent cold, though poisoning him would prematurely ruin their amusement over watching him flounder. 

Boredom quickly set in. He discovered that he couldn't force the chamber doors open, either due to their size or because they were barred from the outside. He eyed the bookshelves, though he didn't dare speculate on what passed for reading material on Jotunheim; it would probably be as ugly and cold as everything else in the Realm. Another interruption by the servants prevented him from resorting to attempting to read Jotun literature.

"You are to come with us," one of them growled.

Perhaps he was to be subjected to another feast where rows upon rows of Frost Giants would speculate about his _performance_ in the Prince's bed. With his mood already sour as bitter apples, he drew himself up and followed. 

The servants led him to another great hall. This one was filled with weaponry and tools clearly meant for training. He saw two Jotuns wrestling, grunting and snarling like great bears as each fought to best the other. The atmosphere put him immediately on edge. What other reason would they bring him here than to demonstrate their prowess in battle and capacity for violence. No sooner had he been directed to seat himself on a wide stone bench than he saw the Jotun Prince enter the training area.

He forced himself to watch, thinking perhaps he might see a weakness he could exploit, but after a half dozen rounds in which the Prince not only won, but won by a wide margin, he felt nothing but terror.

Had the Prince ordered him here as a demonstration of what might happen if Loki denied him what was now his right by marriage?

When he was finally returned to the Prince's chambers, he was nearly numb with fear. His stomach turned at the thought of food. Even mead or wine no longer appealed to him. For lack of other options, he paced restlessly before the great fireplace and watched the doors for the inevitable arrival of the Prince. Should he swallow his pride and be waiting naked in the bed when the Prince came to him? He thought he'd rather die, but after the display he'd witnessed that day, he had to consider death a very real possibility.

Another meal was brought to him. He'd lost all concept of the time of day and the sky outside never seemed to do more than drift from once shade of indigo to another. At least he wasn't given another bath or forced to change into more traditional, and revealing, garments.

It must have been near midnight when the Prince opened the doors and came through. He was dressed in little more than a loin cloth, though Loki could tell he had also bathed from the subtle waft of perfume. He'd brought another jug of the ice wine as well and filled two chalices. This time, he left Loki's on one of the small tables beside the hearth and allowed him to approach and take it.

Amidst the terror making him nauseous, Loki wondered if the ice wine had cultural meaning. Perhaps it was a celebratory drink meant for the consummation of a marriage. He nearly vomited at the idea. Turning to face the fire instead of the Prince masked the fact that his hands were shaking violently. Every horrible possibility had already crossed his mind and most of them ended up with him broken, bleeding, and humiliated. He would curse the All-Father to his dying breath.

"Loki." The Prince's voice rumbled like thunder. His hands settled on Loki's shoulders, surprisingly warm and light, like the touch of a bird. After a moment, he began to softly massage the tight muscles.

"My answer has not changed." Loki was shocked his voice didn't shake as badly as his hands. "I will not oppose you, but I will not offer myself up to you either." He held still, tensing against the blows that must be coming, certain the Prince would punish him for his defiance. 

The Prince's hands stilled. It was some time until he spoke again. "You do not want me?"

Loki cringed away. "If you intend to beat me, just... _do it_." 

He felt the Prince's hands leave his skin and heard the jug shatter against the stone floor a moment later. Clutching his chalice, he braced himself for the worst. Surely the Prince wouldn't beat him to _death_ , only until he could no longer fight back. 

The great doors slammed and shook the very mortar between the stones.

Loki caught himself before he fell to his knees, his whole body shaking now. What had he done? They would come next to bring him to his execution. All because of his _pride_ ; because he couldn't bring himself to accept that his life was to be dictated by the All-Father and all he could hope was to _endure_ it. He shivered and hugged his arms, sinking down against the stone, finding no comfort in its heat.

What was he supposed to do?

He could hold onto his resistance and face the axe, or he could swallow his dignity with his pride and _submit_. But the Prince knew that Loki could not physically stop him; he'd been certain to give Loki proof enough of that in the training room. With his head pressed against his knees, he tried to force his panicked mind to think rationally.

Perhaps intimidation hadn't been the Prince's intent.

His heartbeat began to slow, breath coming easier as he considered another, however unlikely, possibility. Often, he had been subjected to Thor's foolhardy attempts to impress Sif in the training yards. No. This was _Jotunheim_ , a Realm known for its violence and ferocity; this was the Prince of ice and War and death. Loki could not imagine that he'd been brought to the training room so the Prince could attempt to _impress_ him. What could have led the Prince to believe a display of his skill in combat would make Loki more inclined to bed him?

When his gaze fell on the bookshelf, he frowned. He couldn't imagine any of the volumes were more than picture books made by a primitive species barely able to fashion speech, but that didn't mean they wouldn't hold clues to the Prince's motivations. And those clues could be critical to Loki's very survival.


	2. Chapter 2

The Prince did not return the next night, or the three nights after that.

Loki counted the passing of the days by the meals he was brought, with the evening meal corresponding to a lull in the general noise levels beyond the chamber door. Briefly, he considered venturing out into the palace, but quickly dismissed that idea. He had no way to be certain he wouldn't be murdered in the corridor by the first Frost Giant he saw. 

The books presented an unexpected challenge. He'd expected to find the language they were written in to differ from Asgard's, but he'd always been gifted in deciphering new languages. What he hadn't expected was to find books written in at least five different languages and he'd only made it through the lowest shelf. Still, pouring over the strange words and symbols gave him a way to pass the time. He could match some to diagrams or drawn images and others were similar enough to languages he did know that he could make a reasonable guess at their meanings. Thus far, the books were dry texts of strategy and tactics to be used in war, which piqued his interested. Should he ever return to Asgard, the insight would be beneficial.

He didn't dare continue his reading after the evening meal was delivered, in case the Prince should return, and carefully replaced each book as though it had been undisturbed. That left him unoccupied in the hours stretching between eating and falling asleep on the hearth. He stared out the windows at the desolate, icy landscape for a long time, then roused himself enough to sate his curiosity in learning how to operate the Jotun bath and fill the carved stone tub with warm water.

Was this to be his life now? Left alone in the silent rooms, his only contact the lowly servant who brought him meals. He thought of growing old there, isolated and never quite able to get warm.

As it grew later, he settled in his usual place on the hearth with his back to the stones for warmth and his nuptial robe over him as a blanket. The bed was a vast temptation he stubbornly resisted; even without the Prince, sleeping in the bed felt like surrender. The palace grew quiet except for the wind sweeping over the windows and whistling around the turret above. He'd found no gaps or cracks in the stones, even around the window frames; the workmanship was exceptional. He supposed it would have to be if survival in this unforgiving Realm depended on it. 

With one last wistful look at the bed, he closed his eyes. His joints ached from sleeping on the stone hearth. Perhaps the Prince wouldn't mind if Loki took one of the heavy furs from the bed to use as a cushion. Wearily, he rationalized taking the risk, and saving his back, against his pride. He wished for his own bed on Asgard and his own books; he wanted to be in a Realm that wasn't made of ice and to not be married to a monster who'd locked him in a tower and left him there.

Eventually, he slept. His dreams were filled with bits of text and the strange symbols he'd been struggling to learn. As he struggled to assemble a torn piece of parchment, the All-Father loomed large and ominous over him.

Upon waking, he noticed first that his back wasn't screaming from lying on the hearth. He was warm and his head was against a soft pillow. Slowly, he pushed up on his elbows, blinking his eyes into focus. He was lying on the enormous bed, carefully wrapped in furs. The sound of splashing water from the bath alerted him to the fact that he wasn't alone. He panicked. He couldn't remember moving to the bed during the night, but that didn't mean he hadn't done it only half awake. Should he pretend to be asleep and hope the Prince would leave?

The choice was made for him when the Prince stepped through the archway completely naked. His blue skin was tracked with droplets of water from the bath; they caught the light from the fireplace and acted as glistening highlights to the swirls and angles of the darker lines. The Prince was well proportioned, broad shoulders and a narrow waist further emphasized by the solid curves of muscle in his legs. He was built like a warrior, as though crafted out of the ice itself to ride into battle. In truth, the Prince's form wasn't wholly unpleasant to look at and the patterning of his skin played interestingly with the shadows of his muscles. Loki realized he was staring and quickly averted his eyes.

"Don't sleep on the floor," the Prince said tersely. He crossed to the opposite side of the room and began to dry himself near the fire.

"I thought," Loki began, his throat suddenly dry. "This is your bed. I can't-"

"You will _not_ sleep on the floor." His tone left no room for argument. 

Loki considered defying him, out of spite, but the fact that his spine didn't feel as though it had been trampled by Sleipnir weighed heavily on the side of doing as he was told. In this particular instance. He sat up fully. "You have been. Gone."

"There is much work to do." The Prince didn't elaborate what that work might be. He buckled the short garment that seemed to be typical Jotun apparel around his waist, and Loki was surprised when he added a vest made of thick animal hide. 

"Will you...will you return? Tonight?"

The Prince's expression was guarded. He faced Loki but didn't come closer to the bed. "If you ask me to come to you tonight, I will."

Loki swallowed. The Prince seemed in a reasonable mood and Loki couldn't know how much door slamming the hinges could take if he continued to deny him. "Prince," he began, his voice as placating as he could manage. He smiled tightly. "I know that I cannot...deny you. That hasn't been my intent. It is your right to take what you desire and I have been." He searched for a word that wasn't a complete lie but wouldn't rouse the Prince's temper either. "Uncooperative. You are a stranger to me and this Realm is strange to me and I have acted out of fear and...and the loss of my home. But I am bound to you and am now yours to do with as you please, whether that be come to me tonight or not. I am here by your grace alone." He hoped that would be appeasement enough; submission tasted bitter on his tongue.

Lines drew together on the Prince's forehead as he frowned. "You will not ask me to come to you?"

"I will not refuse you, should you come to me."

"Those are not the same," the Prince said irritably. "You use a great number of words and say very little, Loki."

"I would rather not live in fear of being executed or thrown out into the ice to die for not servicing you as demanded by our marriage," Loki snapped. His cheeks flushed hot, knowing he'd likely ruined any good will he may have managed to reclaim. The Prince took a step toward the bed and Loki's hands clenched on the furs over his legs. Would the Prince take him now? He tried not to imagine how painful or violent it would be.

"I told you, Loki. You need not fear me. None will harm you so long as you are mine. You have my oath."

"Your oath means very little."

"Why?" he demanded.

"What shield is your oath against the desire of every other Frost Giant in this Realm? No doubt your own father would like nothing better than to murder me in my sleep." He cringed away involuntarily when the Prince took another step. "Why did you ask Laufey to bargain for me? I cannot possibly be worth peace between our Realms, if I am so unworthy as he said. And you must find Asgardians as ugly and hideous as I find Frost Giants. If I'm not merely a perverse plaything for you to discard when you grow bored or I cannot please you, then what am I?" 

The Prince's lips parted in shock, then his expression turned thunderously angry and he stalked away from Loki, once again slamming the door hard enough to shake the room.

That could have gone better, he thought miserably. But it didn't seem the Prince intended to have him executed, though Loki couldn't begin to fathom why not. If all Jotunheim had gotten out of the bargain was a husband for the Prince, then it was a poor bargain indeed. 

Still, Loki could do more to serve his own self-preservation by not arguing with the monster who now dictated his fate. He groaned into his palms. He'd _tried_ ; the Prince was simply stubborn and ridiculously focused on wanting Loki to ask for him, as if it mattered at all what Loki wanted. Demanding that Loki _want_ him was another way for the Prince to enforce his dominance over Loki; it seemed that only complete submission would be accepted.

He was surprised when food arrived on schedule, since he'd half expected punishment of one kind or another. After he ate, he made use of the bath and returned to his study of the books. He wished he knew if there was a library and if he would be allowed to visit. And he wished irritably for a book that explained Jotun marriage customs so he knew what was expected of him. Unable to clearly tell the males from the females, he had no idea what their gender roles might be and where he, as a male married to another male, would be expected to fall within those roles. At every turn, he seemed to misstep and raise the Prince's ire and he'd found nothing but books about war to aid him. If only he could apply battle strategies to his marriage.

Hoping that there was at least some organization to the Prince's collection of books, he decided to try the top shelf and hope that the subjects of those volumes would be far flung from strategy and the battlefield. He had to drag one of the tables across the floor and climb up to reach the upper shelves. As he pulled down several of the leather bound books, a stack of loose parchment tumbled down from a pile on top of them. He got down carefully and set the books aside to gather up the fallen papers, glancing at what was written on them.

Of anything he might have expected to find, it wasn't poetry, but he had page after page. There were sonnets about the stars and the ice flows, free form poems about firelight, and at least one heroic tale of adventure told in carefully measured verse. He climbed back up onto the table to feel around for more and pulled down three more piles of loose papers, all poetry. 

Once he started reading, he was compelled to continue and settled on the hearth beside the fire where he had the best light. There were dozens of poems where the poet spoke of his loneliness and his yearning for love. Loki found himself strangely touched by the delicate symbolism, surprisingly clever for a Frost Giant. He felt a kinship for the unknown poet. Lunch and dinner were brought to the room and still, he read and reread the poems. Through the poet's eyes, he could almost see Jotunheim as a place of great and terrible beauty, with its vast glaciers and endless winter. There were references he didn't understand, such as a 'time of receiving', which the poet both feared and anticipated eagerly, and there were a great many lamenting the loss of the Casket of Ancient Winters, which seemed to hold a complicated, and sacred, place in their culture.

His absorption in the poetry was so complete that he dismissed the sound of the door opening, assuming it was the servant returning to gather up the remains of his evening meal. 

"What are you doing?"

Loki jumped, startled. The Prince towered over him, glowering. With a snarl, the Prince grabbed a handful of the pages and tossed them into the fire. Loki gaped, then flung himself forward to snatch at them even as their edges began to curl and blacken. "Please, don't! There's no need to destroy them simply because I've read them."

"Do not mock me."

"What?" Loki pulled the last page from the fire and extinguished the bits of flame. His fingers were burned in several spots, but he paid no mind to the pain. The poetry was the one small joy he'd found here and he couldn't bear to see them reduced to ash. "They're beautiful, _please_. If you wish to punish me, I'll accept anything, but there is no need to do it by destroying them." He resisted the urge to collect them all and press them protectively to his chest.

The Prince gave him a bewildered look. "You think they're beautiful?"

"Yes," Loki said, a little defensively. "Did you believe Asgard has no poets?"

"I didn't know you could read."

Loki searched the Prince's face, expecting cruelty or mockery, but saw only sincere confusion. He drew himself up haughtily. "Of _course_ I can read. As a child, I spent much of my time in the great libraries of Asgard. I was advanced in all of my lessons in languages and study of literature."

Tipping his head to the side, the Prince remained confused. "Asgard has libraries?"

"What in the Nine Realms," Loki began. "Don't you have libraries here on Jotunheim?"

The Prince nodded quickly. "Many."

"I am as surprised as you to hear that. I'd thought Frost Giants to be mindless beasts, incapable of producing anything as beautiful as poetry." The words were out before he could think better of it and his face burned, both feet now very firmly in his mouth. 

"Asgard cares for nothing but war and conquest."

"That's ridiculous."

"Yet we here are all mindless beasts," he said pointedly.

Loki opened his mouth, then closed it again. Speaking had won him no battles that day and his luck didn't seem to be changing now. 

The Prince shifted his weight from foot to foot; were he not Jotun, Loki would've thought the motion to be one of shyness. "There are many books of poetry in our libraries, I could have more brought to you. If it would please you."

"If I am to be kept here for the rest of my days, locked in this cold room with no company other than when you come to bed me." He caught himself before his tongue could bring more foolishness down on his head and nodded stiffly. "I would appreciate books. Thank you."

"Loki," the Prince began. He immediately tensed, expecting yet another row in which he would be expected to feign desire. "It is best if you do not call us Frost Giants. I do not believe you mean ill, but it is," his lips twisted into a frown of distaste. "It is vulgar. Others may not choose to overlook it. I do not wish to see you come to harm."

He sounded more worried than angry and Loki wondered what else he might have said - unknowingly - that was considered vulgar. "I didn't realize. My apologies."

"If you wish to leave these rooms, you may come and go as you please. I had not meant to trap you here." With a heavy sigh, the Prince took a seat on the hearth several feet away. "But I fear you were right. It may not be safe for you to wander freely, without me. It will take time for them to believe that you are not..."

Loki sensed there was a great deal more the Prince wasn't saying. "That I'm not what?"

"There are stories. Of dark sorcery within the court of Asgard, within the House of Odin. It was a sorcerer who showed my father's guards a way into Asgard. Such a man would be skilled at casting illusions in battle to confuse his enemies. And if he is willing to betray his own blood, he is dangerous indeed." He glanced sideways at Loki. "My father's guards never returned from Asgard and must have perished there. Perhaps the one who let them in did not intend for them to know victory. There is much I do not know or understand."

Despite the fire, Loki's skin felt cold. Did the Prince suspect him? Or did he believe Loki might give him information that would lead him to the one responsible? Suddenly, he wondered if the Prince was playing with him and he was only beginning to realize the danger of the game. Before he could think longer on that question, the Prince stood.

"I only came to ensure you were not sleeping on the floor." He headed for the door. "I will have books brought to you tomorrow."

He clutched the pages of poetry tighter against his chest as he hurried to his feet. "You do not intend to stay?"

At the door, the Prince stopped to look back. "Are you asking me to stay?"

Loki opened his mouth but no sound came out. He dreaded the night the Prince would finally decide he'd waited long enough, but the longer he put it off, the worse he feared it would be. If it were long enough that the Prince sought pleasure from another, then Laufey would be justified in renouncing the bargain and casting Loki out.

"I thought not." The door didn't slam behind him this time.

Loki's thoughts were unsettled as he tidied the pages of poetry and placed them carefully on the table beside the bookshelf. Gooseflesh dimpled his skin when he stripped out of his clothing. Beneath the furs and blankets in the bed, his shivering gradually subsided.

The exchange with the Prince had given him much to think about. Far from the dull brute he'd first thought the Prince to be, there were unexpected depths to his mind. If he didn't know it was Loki who had betrayed Asgard, then he must at least suspect it; he'd known Loki had cast illusions during the battle. Why bind himself to a traitor and a sorcerer? Had he assumed Loki's actions meant he was sympathetic toward Jotunheim? It didn't sound as though they had a great deal of trust for magic. Why warn Loki of danger, including that brought about by his own careless words, and then offer to bring him books? For the first time, he considered that he may have underestimated the Prince strategic intelligence.

And what did it say about the Prince's view of Loki, and of Asgard, that he'd believed Loki to be illiterate? That they were all cast from the same mold as Thor, no doubt. His pride stung at the assumption.

What _was_ he supposed to call them?

His head ached with the swirling thoughts and questions. Burrowing deeper into the bedding, he all but cocooned himself on the bed and finally found a restless sleep. His dreams were filled faces from Asgard, all laughing and mocking him; Thor laughed hardest of them all. What more had Loki expected than this? The ill dreams and his tossing and turning robbed him of true rest; he felt wearier than before when he awoke.

He dressed in the same clothes he'd worn for days and curled up on the hearth, this time pulling one of the smaller furs with him, to read while he waited for a meal to be delivered. Finally, the servant arrived and set the tray of food on the table. As the elder Jotun turned to leave, Loki spoke without thinking.

"What is your name," he asked. His voice sounded too loud, like a command, in the quiet room.

"Hyndla," the Jotun said in her rough, low voice. 

At least he thought it was female. There was a wider spread to the hips and fullness in the chest that made him think she might be, though there was little enough difference from a male's stature. Even he knew it would likely be rude to ask if she were male or female.

"Thank you. For bringing my meals, Hyndla," he said, as diplomatically as he could.

She nodded slowly, although she did not look as though she believed him. For several long moments, she stood and watched Loki, huddled beside the fire and clutching his small collection of poetry. Finally, she spoke again. "The Prince is beloved of our people, Loki of Asgard. Many have sought after him, many seek after him even now. He does not want for choice in a mate, even many mates, should he choose to bind himself to more than one."

No servant in Asgard would've dared to speak to him such and he bristled. "I have not turned him out."

"Have you not? Loki of Asgard," Hyndla said, her tone impossible to decipher. 

Angrily, he gestured toward the bookshelf and, in his weariness, all of his complaints came tumbling out. "I know nothing of your customs or your culture. Yet I am expected to know. I am expected to do...whatever it is, I cannot fathom. I have not tried to escape, I have not attempted to kill him in our marriage bed, and yet that is clearly not enough. How am I supposed to know what to do? Those books are about war, they tell me nothing about what he wants from me. I am cold, I have no clothes that truly warm or fit me, I have lost _everything_. Odin cast me out on this frozen rock to die," his voice trembled. He cursed his weakness and his fear. "I have been abandoned. Yet you stand there telling me I should be grateful because your Prince is much desired among your people. That is wonderful for him, truly. I wish he would have taken one of them rather than ask that I be _given_ to him. On Asgard it is forbidden for a man to marry another man and here I am expected to set that aside and be glad of it? I simply _cannot_."

He pulled the fur more tightly around him and refused to look at the servant again. Eventually, she left the room as quietly as she'd come. He sniffed, rubbing at his tired eyes. Now he would be the laughing stock of Jotunheim as well as Asgard; poor little Prince Loki weeping like a child on the hearth stones. The Prince need not fear that others might see him as a great and treacherous dark sorcerer when he babbled, homesick and miserable, to servants. 

Eventually, he roused himself from his misery enough to collect the tray of food. The stew had gone cold and the mead warm. In one corner, he found a delicate bird carved from perfectly clear crystal sitting on a saucer. It was cold and his fingertips came away damp, confirming his suspicion that it was made of ice rather than stone. The wings showed each feather and the eyes were faceted like jewels. It was a lovely carving, however impermanent, and made him long even more strongly for Asgard. He ate without tasting anything and bleakly watched the small bird slowly melt into the saucer.

It took longer than usual for Hyndla to return for the empty tray and when she did return, there were three large Jotun in tow behind her, each of them carrying chests filled to bursting with books. They set them near the fireplace and Hyndla gave Loki a brisk nod before clearing away the tray. 

The first chest was full of heavy volumes of art and architecture. Loki spread the fur over floor and laid on it to sort through book after book, amazed at the pages of detailed and beautiful illumination, with deep, jewel toned inks and silver leaf that glistened. Much of the information was practical, detailing how rock was quarried from the deposits deep beneath the ice and even how the ice itself was used as a tool during construction. Not only did Jotunheim have palaces, according to the books, it had museums to house its treasures and cathedrals as well. Use of ice allowed much of their structures to be changeable, unlike the more immutable stone, and they took full advantage of it. In spite of himself, he found the books fascinating and beautiful. The deeper he read into Jotunheim's cultural history, the more similarities he found with Asgard's own history. Enough that he wondered if perhaps the two Realms had not always been at war.

He read through the lunch meal and the afternoon, not even looking up when the evening meal arrived. "Hyndla? Are there more books about..." he trailed off when he saw the Prince himself had brought his food. He straightened quickly, self-conscious. "Prince. I had not expected you so soon. Thank you for the books."

"What more do you seek?"

"I, uh." He licked his lips. "There are references to great songs. That tell stories, passed down generation to generation."

The Prince nodded. "I will have them brought to you." He set the tray carefully on a space empty of books beside Loki. "May I join you?"

"Of course. You need not ask my permission." Loki averted his gaze. He busied himself with his dinner, although it was difficult to pull his attention away from the books. The presence of the Prince, sitting near enough that he could reach out and touch him, was unsettling.

"Loki. There is something I must ask you."

"Whatever you wish," Loki said demurely, masking the sudden leap of his heart.

His low voice rumbled in the quiet. "In Asgard, is marriage so terrible?"

Loki frowned. "Marriage is celebrated, honored."

"You say that you are mine by right and you may not deny me. Is that typical of marriage in Asgard?"

"You are my husband." He managed not to choke on the word. He would need to speak carefully, uncertain of what might serve him and what would only anger the Prince.

"And there are no marriages amongst men?"

Hyndla must've told the Prince of his outburst. He swallowed down a bite of the heavy bread, then set the rest back on the tray. As he did, he saw another saucer with a carved ice bird resting gently on it. "I should not have spoken so freely with your servant. I beg your pardon for my trespass."

"I would prefer you speak as freely with me."

He reached out to touch the bird, letting his fingers just brush along the delicate wings. "I will do better." 

"You have yet to give me a straight answer about anything."

He nearly laughed. How often had he heard similar complaints on Asgard? Loki, who could twist words like smoke in the air and spin them like silver thread, but give away nothing of his true intentions. It hadn't bothered him because he knew how few on Asgard cared to know what Loki truly thought. Thor's voice had always been louder and his words more important than anything Loki might say, or choose not to say.

The Prince reached out to press his fingers gently to Loki's knee. "I wish to stay with you this night."

A shiver passed down his spine but he forced himself to hold still and nod. His voice would shake if he attempted to speak. He'd known this would be the likely outcome; the Prince had grown tired of being denied. If Hyndla spoke true and the Prince could have any number of lovers, perhaps he would not seek pleasure solely with Loki and there would still be nights he was left alone. It was a thin hope, but hope nonetheless. The Prince pulled his hand away and Loki focused on the book in front of him as though it were the most interesting object in all the Nine Realms. 

He would have a reprieve, it seemed, when the Prince retreated to the bath and left Loki to finish his meal in peace. He ate nervously, his stomach verging on rebellion. Once the tray was cleared, he set it on a table and began to gather up the books, straightening and organizing them to keep his mind occupied. Only the head of the bird remained, floating in the pool of water in the saucer. He eyed the bed, terror growing like a pernicious seed inside his chest, and waited for the Prince to finish bathing. Gathering up the fur, he wrapped himself in it and returned to his place beside the fire, taking a few of his favorite poems with him to read and reread. He found them calming, though they provided little distraction now. The Prince did not seem to be cruel; Loki didn't believe he would be violent during coupling, unless roughness was a desirable quality amongst the Jotnar. A few bruises, perhaps, since Loki was unused to such acts. 

His dinner churned unpleasantly in his stomach at the thought of the Prince mounting him like a mare. He heard footsteps but kept his gaze toward the floor. Water was dripping down the Prince's calves and if he was naked again, Loki didn't want to _see_.

"Come to bed," the Prince told him.

Loki reluctantly put aside the poems and came to the bed, carefully draping the fur back over the blankets. He tugged the dark tunic he'd been given over his head and set it aside, then unlaced his pants and shucked them down over his legs. He turned away, self-conscious, as he folded the pants and placed them with the tunic. His skin was already rough with gooseflesh. He was shivering when he slipped beneath the blankets, lying flat and stiff against the bed. 

If he played his part, he would survive. Over time, it was even possible that he might gain the Prince's trust. He could use that when he found an opportunity to seek revenge against the All-Father.

"I do not want you to submit to me out of fear," the Prince murmured. His voice was so near that Loki flinched involuntarily.

 _What else was there_ , he thought uncharitably. 

"Will you look at me, Loki?"

He turned his head to the side and tried to smile. The Prince was lying beside him, unashamed of his nakedness. Loki's eyes fell to the patterning of lines in the middle of his chest he'd never noticed before; it resembled a star. Then he jerked his gaze back to the Prince's crimson, threatening eyes, rather than see more of his body.

"I must journey to the south tomorrow, to oversee one of the mines," the Prince said. "I will be gone several days."

Loki braced himself for what must be coming next. The Prince would obviously want to consummate their marriage before he traveled. He swallowed, trying to force his tongue to move and say something, anything, that might convince the Prince to be quick about it.

"You will be under guard while I am away, to ensure your safety. I have chosen them myself and I trust them."

And to ensure he didn't attempt to flee. With his nerves winding tighter and tighter, he wished the Prince would simply find another lover. Even if he brought his lovers back and forced Loki to watch, it would be preferable to this torment night after night. He tried to breathe, tried to relax; he had to convince the Prince that he was _willing_ or he would have no hope of ever turning the situation in his favor. If it was known outside these rooms that their marriage remained unfulfilled, which it must be, would guards be enough to stop any Jotun who thought himself a more suitable mate? The entire palace must know that Loki had not yet lain with the Prince. On Asgard, that alone would be grounds to challenge a marriage. With the Prince away, anyone who opposed Loki's presence would be unable to resist such an opportunity. He gritted his teeth.

"Do you wish to...before you leave," his resolve wavered. "If you wish to bed me tonight, I am willing." 

"Loki."

He forced himself to say the words the Prince wanted to hear. "I am...asking."

To his surprise, the Prince left the bed and began to dress. Loki nearly despaired, thinking he'd once again managed to say something wrong, however unintended. He yanked the nearest blanket up over his shoulder for warmth and pressed his face against the pillow. Why did the Prince continue to toy with him this way? His position was precarious enough.

The sound of the door opening and heavy footsteps on the stone roused him enough to peer out from the blankets. He was surprised to see two servants enter, one carrying more wood for the fireplace and the second carrying a wide tray with a tall jug and two stone chalices. A strange sense of relief mingled with his terror. The servants would talk and report that the Prince had more ice wine - which clearly meant _something_ \- brought to his chambers. It would add a shred of legitimacy to the Prince's claim on Loki and possibly lessen the chances of being assassinated while the Prince was absent. He was already half out of the bed when the servants approached and he followed them into the bath. There was still warm water from the Prince's bath and that seemed acceptable to them; they added perfume from a crystal decanter. Perhaps the Prince had left the water in the hope that Loki would capitulate.

After bathing quickly, he was led back to the bed. With the additional wood added to the fire, the room was almost warm. The servants took their leave and he was once again alone with the Prince. 

The Prince filled the two chalices and brought them to the bed, resting them on the wide headboard so he could undress. He motioned for Loki to come closer, holding out one chalice. Uncomfortably aware of his nakedness as well as the Prince's, Loki took the chalice and drank. He finished half of the cup before he had to stop and breathe.

"What is the meaning of the wine?" He raised his glass in emphasis. He was desperate to think of anything else, and to buy time for the wine to ease his nerves.

"It is traditional. The berries grow in only a few places and the wine must age for many years before it turns sweet." The Prince refilled Loki's cup. "It represents our bond, which will also grow sweeter with time." He seemed earnest in his explanation, ridiculous as it might be.

Loki nodded as though agreeing. He was glad to feel the wine pool, hot and numbing, in his stomach. The warmth spread outward into his limbs and began to muddle his thoughts. The Prince drank barely half of his cup, content to give Loki the bulk of the drink. Loki was both grateful and angry, wondering if the Prince hoped it would aid him in relaxing or if he merely wanted him pliant and submissive. When his head began to spin, Loki finally pushed away the cup. 

He worked up his courage, largely made possible by the wine. "What do you wish me to do?"

"Lie on the bed." 

The Prince stroked a hand lightly down Loki's side and he managed not to shake under the touch. He climbed onto the bed and laid down on his back, then rolled to his stomach at the Prince's gentle prodding. Strong fingers wrapped around his hips and pulled him to his knees. So he was to be taken like an animal; he swallowed down bitter outrage at the humiliation and pushed up onto his hands to brace himself. The Prince made a few adjustments, spreading his knees an inch or two wider and deepening the bend. Loki could feel the press of the Prince's inner thighs against his legs, the blue skin cool, but warmer than expected. He didn't notice the small jar on the bed beside him until the Prince reached for it.

All he had to do was survive; it would be over soon enough.

He saw the Prince set the jar back on the bed and forced himself not to hold his breath. A moment later, he dug his fingers into the blanket as he felt the Prince's cock press against his asshole. He nearly panicked. Dropping down to his elbows, he pressed his forehead against the bed to hide his face. The Prince was stretching him open and it burned horribly. His eyes watered with the pain, which increased rapidly to near unbearable agony. He choked down a sob, refusing to show weakness. When it seemed he would be torn apart, the Prince paused and stroked his lower back gently. Loki kept his eyes shut tight, not even wanting to imagine what was happening, let alone see it for himself. The pain subsided, if only marginally; he wondered if it could be nearly over already. As if in answer to his question, the Prince began to withdraw, only to press forward again, his grip pulling Loki's hips back at the same time.

His cry of pain was muffled by the blanket. He tried to focus solely on his breathing as the Prince rutted into him. It couldn't last forever. He prayed a Jotun's stamina wasn't considerable. The Prince's thrusts became easier, either through Loki's body adapting to the intrusion or an increase in lubrication. He forced the question of which it might be into the back of his mind, hoping that bleeding was not usual for a Jotun and wouldn't be expected.

"Loki," the Prince whispered, his voice much rougher than usual.

He didn't respond. If he opened his mouth, he thought he might scream from the pain. He could taste blood from biting his lip in his effort to keep silent.

"Loki, I...I." He groaned and the bone-jarring pace of his hips increased.

Loki lost his breath, howling noiselessly against the bed. His whole body was shaking from pain and shock. The sound of their skin slapping together was grotesquely loud and Loki had to push against the bed with all his strength to not be driven down onto his stomach. 

" _Loki_." The Prince stilled and Loki felt a spread of icy cold inside his body, the rest of him still burning.

He fell to the side with relief, unable to stop himself from shaking violently. The Prince's cock slipped from his body and the terrible pain in his ass began to lessen. It was _over_ ; he'd done it. He tucked into a ball, arms tight over his chest and curled in on himself. His mind was near blank, the sudden cessation of pain flooding him with a heavy, blanketing relief.

The bed shifted behind him, one large hand settling on his shoulder. "Loki? Are you alright? Are...are you unwell? Loki?" 

Shaking his head quickly, he swallowed. "I'm...cold. Nothing more than that." 

He couldn't show weakness now; he might risk the Prince's anger if he were honest about how awful their coupling had been. Clearly, it had been far more pleasurable for the Prince. He barely noticed the Prince pulling blankets and furs over him and tucking them carefully around him. At least he would leave in the morning and Loki would have time to heal before he returned and wished to join Loki in bed again. He consoled himself with knowing none could claim his marriage to be illegitimate now. Curled away from the Prince, he soaked the pillow with silent tears long before he fell asleep.

When Loki woke, he was alone in the enormous bed. He laid still for a long time, feeling the residual ache in his lower body and afraid of what he might discover once he moved. It was as much a surprise as a relief when he finally did move and found no blood on his legs or on the bedding beneath him. He'd thought certainly that the Prince was tearing him apart the night before. He struggled to imagine anyone _wanting_ to suffer that way. No wonder Asgard had outlawed such a barbaric practice. If there were others who wished the Prince to take them in that manner, then Loki wished them success.

Was this to be his fate? He wondered if he'd rather die.

Somehow, he would have to convince the Prince to seek his pleasure elsewhere. He doubted it would be terribly difficult, since Loki's utter lack of experience was likely to mean the Prince had left their bed unsatisfied.

Soaking in the bath partially eased the ache from his body, though the lingering scent of perfume from the night before made him feel sick. He resolved not to think about it any longer. Allowing the Prince to bed him had been a move of calculation, nothing more, and one likely to increase his own odds of survival. He had to focus on learning as much as he could about Jotunheim and using that knowledge against the Prince and, eventually, Asgard.

His morning meal was waiting for him when he left the bath, grimacing as he dressed once again in clothes he'd worn for days. Washing clothing seemed to be a foreign concept to the Jotun. He considered how he might coerce the Prince into providing him additional clothing.

Commotion beyond the doors caught his attention; boots on stone and raised voices. His heart fluttered wildly in panic. Had they come for him while the Prince was away? Both of the heavy doors to the chamber swept open. There were two ranks of guards, half from Jotunheim and the other half from Asgard. Several servants carried wooden chests and boxes between them, bringing them into the room. In their midst, Frigga strode forward with her head high, her armor gleaming over her gown. She moved immediately toward Loki, holding out her arms to pull him into a tight embrace.

"Mother?" He all but collapsed against her, clinging to her strength and her familiarity.

"My son," she whispered against his ear. When she pulled back, she caught his face in both hands, her eyes searching his. "I will never forgive your father for this, Loki. Tell me of this Prince. Is he treating you well? Has he harmed you in anyway?

He glanced toward the guards, knowing they had been selected for their loyalty to the Prince. "No. He is...he has been very kind." With a strained smile, he nodded toward the chests filled with books. "He has even allowed me books to read. To pass the time." Her eyes narrowed slightly and he knew she did not believe him, but also that she knew he could not speak freely in front of the guards and servants.

Her skirts brushed over the stone as she turned around. "I would have time alone with my son," she said loudly, her voice regal and commanding. "Your Prince has granted me this much, has he not?" The guards only nodded and retreated, closing the doors as they went.

He sagged with relief once they were gone, letting his head fall. Wildly, he imagined that she'd come to take him back to Asgard and free him of his marriage.

"Loki, you must tell me honestly, have you consummated your marriage to the Prince? I can make no reasonable protest if you have." Her glance flickered to the bed, then back to Loki, and his horror must've shown on his face. The very thing he'd thought his doom might have been his only salvation. She smiled sadly before she pulled him close, stroking her fingers through his hair. "I am so sorry, my son. I know you had no choice. You've done what you had to do. It is no matter, we will find another way to bring you home again."

It was by a thread of will alone that he didn't burst into tears and sob like a child into her gown. "Mother, I...I can't bear it here. I will not survive. Laufey said as much himself, I am not expected to live." He held her tight, his face buried against her shoulder as she hushed him gently.

"I have brought some of your things from Asgard, perhaps they will bring you comfort." She pulled away slowly and dabbed at his eyes with a square of silk. "I fear your father is nearing the Odinsleep. He has banished Thor from Asgard."

"What?" Loki stared at her, stunned. "I must come home, Mother. There must be a way."

"Your father will not hear of it, but hope is not lost. If Thor has not returned before the Odinsleep comes, then I will have cause to demand your return."

"What hope is there for Thor?" His mind was already leaping to the rest of her words, devouring them hungrily. If the Odinsleep came and Thor was banished, then the throne would go to Loki with the Queen's blessing. Could it be possible? How neatly he would be able to get his revenge for what he had suffered; he would have everything he'd wanted and he could prove, once and for all, that he was better suited for the throne than Thor. 

"Your father always has a purpose. We must not lose hope." She caught his hands in hers. "The Prince sent word to Asgard and requested that I visit you, as a show of faith between our two Realms and endorsement of your union. Perhaps he can be reasoned with. You have ever been able to persuade people to your side."

"He is...reasonable," Loki agreed grudgingly. He was surprised the Prince was behind Frigga's visit. Perhaps it was the Prince's way of showing his appreciation for the night before.

"You must win him over, Loki. Make him an ally in this."

He blanched at the implications of what she was asking him to do and the pain it would require him to endure, but steeled himself. "I will try to appeal to him. Perhaps he will allow you to visit frequently. I am kept here, in these rooms, for my own safety. I doubt he would allow me to return to Asgard in all but the most dire of circumstances." The Odinsleep - and Asgard without a king - might be one of those circumstances, but he would need to play his cards very carefully. Asgard without a king would also be seen as vulnerable to attack. Then again, if Loki were to become Asgard's King, the Prince's own ambition to rule would be the very sword Loki could use against him.

"I will find a way to reach Thor," Frigga continued softly. "But he will have to undo your father's banishment on his own, I cannot help him. I am sorry, Loki. For now, we must be patient."

"Thank you for coming," he told her shakily. Behind them, the doors began to open. "It is good to see you."

"I will come again when I can." Her eyes brightened with tears. She embraced him again before returning to her guards and allowing them to escort her away, her gaze lingering on Loki until the very last moment.

Alone once more, he investigated the chests and boxes from Asgard; they were filled with his clothes and his books. He gratefully changed into more fitting, warmer clothing and set about arranging the chests against one of the interior walls. However brief, Frigga's visit had bolstered his spirits enormously. A real chance not only to escape Jotunheim but to rule Asgard as well; it was so near his grasp he could almost feel the cool metal of Gungnir in his hands. If Thor remained banished, that would be even better.

More books arrived with his midday meal. They were the volumes of great songs he'd asked after the night before. Among the ballads, he found another collection of poetry loosely bound with a ribbon. These poems were less somber than the ones he'd found earlier; they spoke of love and hope and an end to a life of empty longing for something _more_.

Secure in the knowledge the Prince would not return that night and wrapped up in his favorite jacket, Loki formed a nest in the furs on the bed and settled in to savor the new poems.


	3. Chapter 3

Loki tensed at the sound of the door opening, relieved to see it was Hyndla coming with his midday meal. He'd counted five days since the Prince had left, which meant he could return at any time. Loki was studiously trying not to think about it.

"Have you found the new books to your liking, Loki of Asgard?"

The latest stack had been lore and mythology, which had proven to be nearly impenetrable with symbolism. He lacked the cultural context to know if it was literal or figurative that a Jotun woman might give birth to a wolf or an enormous snake. But the tales were entertaining enough and he'd found more evidence to support his theory that Jotunheim and Asgard had a shared history, long ago when the Realms were young. 

"Yes, thank you." He drifted from the books to check the tray and found a carved ice rose in the corner. After the birds, there had been flowers and many pointed stars as well. He'd grown to look forward to the tiny beauties that came with his meals. Hyndla claimed it was not her doing, but refused to tell him who made the sculptures.

"Word has come and we expect the Prince this night."

"Oh?" He feigned cheerfulness.

"He will wish to see to your needs."

He very much doubted that. He assumed it meant the servants would arrive later to bathe him so the Prince could bed him and Loki would grit his teeth and endure the agony. Without allowing his smile to slip away, he took a seat at the table to eat his meal. Hyndla had taken pity on him a few days earlier and brought him a chair meant for a Jotun youth. She was a strange creature, to be sure. In her own gruff way, she seemed to care about the Prince's happiness, and by extension, whether or not Loki was comfortable.

"Would you like to come out to meet him?"

The question was as startling as the news that he was returning. Loki had not left the Prince's chambers since the night he'd arrived. He eyed Hyndla, weighing the possibility that she was setting a trap for him.

"It would please him," she said firmly.

"What does it entail?"

"There is a wide archway through which they will come into the palace. Often, the husbands and wives stand above to see their lovers home again. It would please him to see you there, among the others. I will stand with you, if you feel unsafe. And it would put to rest many of the rumors that have grown in his absence."

One eyebrow raised, he gave her an appraising look. He knew well enough that the Prince was an warrior of excellent caliber, but Hyndla hardly seemed worried by the idea of being challenged. He was curious about these rumors she spoke of as well. Finally, he plucked up the ice rose. "If it would please him, then I will. Fresh air, even as cold as the air in this Realm, would be welcome."

"I will come for you when they are near."

"Very well." 

He tried not to spend his remaining few hours of freedom allowing his anxiety to run out of control. He knew what to expect now, as miserable as it was, and there was no longer the fear of the unknown. As the afternoon waned, he changed into a finer set of his court attire, complete with a long coat. The leather provided greater protection from the cold air and, although it wouldn't stop a blade, he felt safer beneath the light armor. A heavy cloak with a thick fur mantle would keep him warm. He laid it out over the bed to be ready when Hyndla returned.

She arrived while he was in the midst of teasing apart a riddle of the origins of Yggdrasil and waited for him to settle the cloak about his shoulders and comb his fingers through his hair to tame the curls. She had the silent patience of a mountain, though he occasionally had the impression she'd like nothing more than to put him over her knee like a naughty child.

With barely contained dread, he followed her out. Armed with knowledge and understanding of Jotun architecture, he saw the palace in a new light. He was able to separate functional from decorative and identify key elements of defense and fortification. The wide corridors bustled with activity. He stayed in Hyndla's wake to keep from falling underfoot. The Jotnar seemed to alter their size according to need. He saw great, towering giants hauling heavy bundles, while those of smaller stature worked at tasks requiring lesser strength. Thus far, he'd found nothing in the books to explain the ability to alter their size, but it was likely so _normal_ that it was unremarkable to a Jotun, with no need to write anything down. The air grew colder as they went and then chilled precipitously as they crossed a threshold into a wide courtyard. His eyes stung from the bitter cold.

He pulled the cloak tighter around him, his breath frosting on the air. Stone steps on the other side spiraled up to a wide, arched bridge that spanned the width of the courtyard. Although the wall of the bridge came to the middle of his chest and he would barely be visible from below, he had a sweeping view of the mountains and the wide glacial plain below the palace. In the distance, he could see a grouping of figures moving swiftly across the snow. Great beasts moved with them, their yolks dragging heavy sleds behind them. As Hyndla had said, there were others on the archway, watching the way that led to the palace. Hyndla positioned herself to block him from the wind with her larger body and, so long as he kept still, he was obscured from view of the other Jotun. He huddled inside his cloak, pulling it closed to insulate him from the cold stone. Snatches of conversation around and below him drifted along the frigid wind. The low pitch of their voices made it easy for their words to travel great distances.

"...nearly his _time_. And he would rather pollute his blood with that Asgardian."

"Laufey will not allow it."

Loki craned his neck, searching for the source of the voices, but thought the conversation must have been coming from below the bridge where he couldn't see. 

"...lasted this long..."

"Is it true that Asgardians cannot change? They are unnatural."

His skin crawled with the knowledge that he was being whispered about. Were these the rumors Hyndla had thought to dispel? His presence seemed to be having very little effect on the bizarre conversations around him. When he glanced upward, he saw that Hyndla was watching him, her great red eyes dark in the starlight. Perhaps she'd brought him here to throw him from the bridge and see his bones break on the stones below. 

The figures were closer now and he silently urged them on. However loathe he was for the Prince to return, he realized that he at least trusted the Prince not to murder him as long as he was compliant in their bed. The same could not be said for the Jotun around him, any of whom might be plotting his demise in that very moment.

He was surprised to see that the Prince did not lead the group of Jotun. In fact, he walked at the back and saw the rest of his party through the gates of the palace before he, himself, came through. Many of the Jotun looked immediately to the bridge to seek out the faces of their mates and family, and the crowd on the bridge thinned rapidly as the others went down to meet them. He swallowed, thinking the Prince would not look up at all. It was almost too late when he finally glanced toward the bridge, as though the Prince hadn't thought anyone would be there waiting for him. A wide smile spread across his face when he saw Loki standing with Hyndla; he looked _pleased_.

"Go to him," Hyndla prompted.

Loki kept his head up, refusing to make eye contact with those who openly stared at him, and took the stairs down to the ground level. The Prince was already striding toward him. There was a new sway to his shoulders as he walked; the familiar swagger of a proud warrior that Loki had often seen in Thor. The smile on his face only grew as he drew near.

"Loki," the Prince said.

Nodding his head slightly in deference, Loki greeted him in return. "Prince."

The Prince laughed first, then he stepped in close and reached for Loki. One strong arm circled around Loki's lower back, pulling him sharply against the Prince's body. He caught Loki's hair with his other hand. Loki tamped down the wild panic beginning to rise in his throat; the Prince was going to kiss him. He forced himself to be still rather than strike out and struggle to get away. Dark blue lips pressed firmly against his and he felt a hand slide down to grip his ass. With his face burning, Loki tentatively returned the Prince's kiss. To do otherwise would raise suspicion and since the Prince was groping him openly in the courtyard, anyone who saw them would assume the Prince had every intention of taking Loki to bed as soon as possible. 

"I have missed you," the Prince murmured against Loki's lips. 

Loki was spared having to lie by the Prince choosing to kiss him again. It was ludicrous, of course. How could he miss Loki when they barely knew each other? The Prince's kisses were surprisingly gentle and unhurried. His lips were soft against Loki's, teasing them open; the tip of the Prince's tongue ghosted against Loki's upper lip. A strange, new feeling flared like a fire in the pit of Loki's stomach, reminding him of the ice wine. He allowed the Prince to part his lips, the taste of him filling his mouth. It was _pleasant_ and the stirring of heat in his belly grew. When the Prince broke the kiss, Loki nearly leaned forward, seeking more.

The Prince pressed closer, his whole body now against Loki's. He felt as solid and unyielding as the stones. "May I come to you, Loki?" 

His panic returned, cutting through the strange haze that had filled his mind. "Would you like to bathe? First?" It took him a moment to realize the low rumble in the Prince's chest was laughter.

"Of course." The Prince kissed him once more, then released him. "Hyndla will see you returned to our chambers and I will join you shortly."

Loki forced a smile. Behind them, he saw many of the warriors in the courtyard watching, their demeanor hostile. He kept close to Hyndla as she led him back into the warmer interior of the palace. Earlier, he'd wanted nothing more than to leave the Prince's chambers and now he was glad to return to them, the solid doors between him and those who would take his place. Hyndla moved at her steady pace to help Loki remove his cloak, then to draw a bath for the Prince.

"I will have mead brought to you," she told him.

The wine, he guessed, must only be for the night of consummation. It seemed an odd thing to have a dedicated wine for such an event. But he thanked Hyndla regardless and nervously tidied the stacks of books he'd been studying during the Prince's absence.

Both the Prince and the mead arrived at the same time, along with another servant carrying a heavy pack still dusted with ice from the Prince's journey. The Prince, smiling, pulled Loki in for another long kiss. It did strange things to Loki's head; he wasn't certain if he enjoyed it or not and hoped he would have time alone later to think about it. Usually the Prince had no qualms about disrobing in front of Loki, though it mattered little considering what the Jotnar considered clothing, and it was notable that the Prince remained dressed before leaving the room to bathe.

"How was your journey," Loki called loudly enough to be heard in the other room. "I trust all went well."

"It went well indeed, though longer than I had expected." Water splashed as the Prince climbed into the large bath. "I will not leave you for so long next time."

"Oh, it's alright," Loki said too quickly, then winced. "I had much to read and Hyndla keeps me company. And...and my mother came to visit. I believe I have you to thank for that?" He drifted closer to the archway as he spoke, until he could see into the room and know where the Prince was. The feeling in his stomach returned, like a tiny storm swirling under his skin.

Against the pale gray of the stone, the Prince's skin was the color of Asgard's twilight sky. His eyes were closed, his features completely relaxed as he soaked in the warm water. With a start, Loki realized the Prince's hair had grown noticeably longer in the few days he'd been gone and it was no longer bound in tight rows across his scalp. This look, relaxed and with his pale hair loose and tousled, made the Prince seem considerably younger. For the first time, Loki wondered how old the Prince truly was and how that compared to Loki's own age. Were they peers or were their ages further apart?

There was a small smile on the Prince's lips. "I am glad her visit pleased you." 

Loki considered how he might plant the seed of his returning to Asgard should Odin fall into the Odinsleep without Thor. If the Prince sought to please him, he could use that to his advantage. "Will I ever be allowed to return to Asgard? Only to visit, I am not asking to stay." Hearing him so close, the Prince opened his eyes and Loki immediately averted his gaze, concerned the Prince would not want him to watch him bathe.

"Perhaps," the Prince answered cautiously.

The condition to that _perhaps_ likely being if the Prince could ever trust Loki to return of his own free will. It was a fair answer, since Loki had been lying when he'd asked only to visit. If he were to escape Jotunheim, he would rather see it destroyed than return.

"Whatever I can do to make you happy here, Loki, I will do it." Water lapped against the sides of the bath as the Prince moved. "Would you like to join me?"

His throat went dry. There was more than room enough for two in the giant bath. Though his initial reaction was one of fear, a small part of him wished to say _yes_ and that frightened him even more than the Prince. He fell back to more certain ground, unable to answer the question of what he would _like_. "If you desire it, I will join you." The Prince's brows knit together and Loki thought he must've said the wrong thing and they would begin fighting already, not even a day after the Prince's return.

"I would like you to join me."

Loki nodded, still looking away as he began to disrobe. He couldn't imagine what appeal his thin, pale frame might hold for the Prince; he hadn't been considered particularly desirable on Asgard either. The few women who had expressed interest in him had only truly been interested in Thor and thought to get closer to him through Loki. After that, he'd turned his back on all of it, choosing to bury himself in his books and his magic instead of pursuing sex or romance. It hadn't seemed a particularly difficult sacrifice. He folded each piece of clothing as he set it aside, using the simple task to hide the shaking of his hands. He entered at the opposite end, stepping in and quickly lowering himself so his body was hidden by the water. 

"Closer." The Prince motioned for him to come and he complied. Once he was within arm's length, the Prince caught his shoulders and turned him around so his back was to the Prince.

His relief at not having to face the Prince was short-lived. Strong hands settled on his hips and held him in place on the Prince's lap. Loki could feel the length of the Prince's cock, already beginning to swell, beneath him. He struggled to find a more stable position against the wet stone, ending up on his knees straddling the Prince. The Prince's hand drifted up Loki's back, stroking and caressing along his spine to his neck, then down again; for now, he seemed content enough to do only that. Unsure what to do with his hands, Loki let them rest against his thighs.

"Your skin is like fresh snow," the Prince said softly. 

Loki had no idea if the comment was meant to be flattering or not, let alone how to respond. If he were to attempt complimenting the Prince in kind, he wouldn't know what to say. The Prince's form was pleasing to look at in the same way the carved ice birds were lovely; when he smiled, he was not wholly terrifying, and his kisses had certainly done something to Loki that had been enjoyable. Loki had ever been gifted at flattery, but now he found himself unsure of his own tongue. 

He was spared another opportunity to say the wrong thing by the Prince's hands settling on his hips, beginning to rock him back and forth so his cock slipped against Loki's ass. He didn't know if it would be more or less painful in the water. 

With a rumbling groan, the Prince sat up, pulling Loki down hard into his lap before his hands began to roam. Loki gasped when he felt fingers curl around his cock; the contact startled him and his hand flew to the Prince's wrist, gripping tight. The Prince immediately let go, pulling his hand away. There had been intense, frightening pleasure when the Prince had touched him, but Loki was no more familiar with _that_ than he'd been with the strange fluttering in his belly when the Prince kissed him. Lips pressed against the back of his neck and he felt teeth scrape over his skin. Imagining the Prince biting down, his teeth sinking into skin and drawing blood, Loki nearly despaired. 

The splashing of water against the sides of the tub grew stronger and louder as the Prince twisted his fingers through Loki's hair to pull his head back, baring his throat. At the same time, his other hand dragged along Loki's chest and stomach, then down between his legs to fondle Loki's cock and balls, never resting in one place for long. Loki jerked with every touch, startled and dismayed at the way his body was reacting. Every moment became a battle not to relax against the Prince, not to close his eyes, not to let his hips cant upwards to meet those brief touches. He braced himself for the agony he knew was coming, eventually.

"I...my time is...Loki, and I...I," the Prince faltered. He buried his face against the back of Loki's shoulder. 

He had _no idea_ what the Prince was talking about. Before he could pull his thoughts together enough to ask, the Prince was standing and hauling Loki with out of the bath with him. Water cascaded and burst over the floor, but the Prince didn't even stop to dry them off. He carried Loki to the bed and set him on his feet. Loki bent forward, elbows against the bed, as the Prince continued to work his cock between Loki's buttocks. Leveraged against the bed, Loki's cock brushed over the blanket beneath him and it felt _good_. Distracted by the unexpected pleasure coming from stimulation, he was caught by surprise when the Prince began to penetrate him and he cried out in pain.

The Prince ceased moving immediately. "Loki? Is something wrong?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he said quickly, tightening his grip on the blanket. The Prince must have believed him. 

His ass burned, as before, and his eyes filled with tears, but if he could continue to feel some pleasure amidst the pain, it would be tolerable. Loki felt the Prince's cock forcing him open, pressing deeper until Loki thought any further might truly kill him. The Prince kneaded his thumbs into the muscles of Loki's hips, back, and buttocks while he rolled his hips, thrusting repeatedly into Loki's ass. Each one jolted Loki against the bed and set off tiny sparks of pleasure. It was enough to distract him from the pain. He had endured this before, he could endure again.

This time, however, the Prince seemed determined to continue as long as possible and he kept making adjustments, searching for a minute angle or alteration that would bring him greater pleasure. Once or twice, Loki thought he might have felt something that _wasn't_ pain, but it was quickly overwhelmed by the near constant assault of stinging.

He was near to sobbing when he finally felt the Prince's cold seed inside him and held his breath to keep from crying out as the Prince left him collapsed against the bed, his ass aching. Forcing himself to move, he climbed into the bed and beneath the covers, pleading cold. His shivering was due more to the pain than the cold, but he didn't dare let the Prince know that. He wasn't permanently harmed, and if the Prince was pleased, he might allow Frigga another visit.

The Prince hadn't joined him in the bed before he fell asleep and he was gone when Loki awoke in the morning. He ached and he was weary, but dressed himself carefully and set himself to his books. 

The two mentions of the Prince's _time_ , first in the courtyard and then by the Prince himself, intrigued him. It was important, he could tell that much. Was it a rite of passage? Perhaps the Prince would be required to go on a long journey to prove himself worthy of rule, or possibly, to establish his place amongst the other men. Loki had seen no indication that the Prince wasn't already accepted as a warrior, however, but he knew there was much he didn't understand about Jotun culture. When the texts provided him no further information, he returned to the poetry in an attempt to glean more details. He discovered that a new collection had been added to his pile during the night. Like many of the other poems, these were mostly love poems, waxing eloquently about emeralds, unbroken snow, and pale starlight. There was a long, complicated poem Loki couldn't understand, with its many metaphors of transformation and birth, though he couldn't be sure what was metaphor and what was literal. It mentioned this mysterious 'time of receiving', but once again, gave away little that was useful. Clearly, the poet intended his readers to be Jotun.

By his midday meal, Loki knew that every Jotun experienced the so-called 'time of receiving' at least once and that it marked a significant milestone in their lives, critical to the Jotun culture and community at large. He could assume the Prince was nearing his 'time' and, from the hostility he'd faced in the courtyard, there was a possibility that Loki would interrupt this necessary ritual.

Did he dare ask the Prince? 

It seemed a very private aspect of Jotun life, given how little it was addressed directly in their literature. But its importance could have an impact on Loki's survival. If the Prince's time was near and Loki could somehow ruin it - if, indeed, Laufey would _not_ allow Loki to interrupt it - then he might be in considerable danger. He had to know more. Until he heard from Frigga again, until they could find a way to free him from Jotunheim, he had to do anything he could to survive.

The Prince surprised him in the late afternoon, arriving with a tall pitcher of mead in one hand. He panicked, realizing the Prince wanted to take him to bed again so soon.

"Are you not still weary from your journey?" He forced himself not to resist when the Prince pulled him toward the bed.

"You blush like a maid, Loki." His deep voice rumbled. Strong hands slid down to cup Loki's ass firmly. "You needn't be shy with me any longer. I have known your body, husband. I wish to please you."

Loki masked a wince, doubting very much that the Prince was _capable_ of giving him anything more than excruciating pain. "Mead would please me. Why don't you pour us some?" He tried to pull away without it being obvious he was near to frantic with fear. The Prince merely laughed and went to fill their cups. Loki drained his in one breath, which earned him a puzzled look from the Prince.

"Are you nervous? Surely you know by now that there is no need to be."

Frozen, Loki wanted nothing more than to bolt from the room and away from the Prince. He'd run out into the ice if he had to and freeze to death, thinking that preferable. There hadn't been enough time for his body to heal from the night before; the pain would be unbearable. He refilled his cup a second time. The Prince was frowning now. He would have to give an explanation - anything - to excuse his behavior. 

The Prince reached out again, his hand going to Loki's lower back. "Loki." 

"No!" Loki's stomach clenched, his blood going cold at the realization that he'd shouted at the Prince. Cringing, he lowered his eyes, shoulders hunching as he tensed, ready to be struck. "I mean, not yet. _Please_. I need more time. To heal. A few days is all. Surely you can wait..." he trailed off, humiliated and ill from too much mead on a nearly empty stomach. 

No blow came, but the Prince pulled his hand away. When he dared look up again, the Prince had transformed from relaxed and at ease to dark and dangerous as an avalanche; his unreadable gaze was focused so intently on Loki that it was boring into him. Thus far, the Prince hadn't been abjectly cruel, but would he force himself on Loki without regard to the pain he caused? Swallowing down a wave of terror and nausea, Loki debated running, perhaps throwing the remainder of his mead into the Prince's face to distract him. Would he even make it to the door? If he did, where would he go? His prison was the very Realm itself, not the palace or the Prince's guards. Without a word, the Prince turned and stalked from the room, his footsteps echoing sharply in the silence. The door slammed behind him.

Loki immediately put the mead aside, his head swimming unpleasantly. The Prince would certainly punish him this time. What message would it send to his people if he could not even control his own husband? He tried, miserably, not to imagine what possible torment the Prince might design to ensure Loki did not deny him a second time. Although he had not seen a Jotun dungeon, it was a reasonable assumption that they _had_ dungeons and that they would be particularly ill-suited for an Asgardian. At best, the Prince might simply throw him into a dark hole and leave him there.

His evening meal came; he would not be starved to death, at least. But it was not Hyndla who carried the tray and he didn't dare question the imposing giantess who had come in her place. There was a small, multi-pointed star made of clear ice on his tray, delicate as a snowflake. He ate numbly, watching the star melt and wondered how it was the Jotnar were capable of such fine precision with the ice.

Even the books and poetry offered no solace that night. He spent most of it pacing and watching the door, expecting the Prince at any moment, but no one came. A few hours of fitful sleep were all he managed before the morning meal arrived, brought by yet another unfamiliar servant.

At the end of the second day, his nerves were a bundle of knots. He spent hours at the windows, watching the outside world and studying the hostile landscape for even the barest chance of an escape route. If he could get clear enough to call for Heimdall, perhaps the Guardian would send the Bifrost and bring him home. And risk plunging Asgard into war against Jotunheim. He slumped against the cold stone wall, his mood as bleak as the barren world outside.

Four days later, a group of servants came and removed all of the books from the room. They took every scrap of paper, everything Frigga had brought him, and every bit of furniture except the large bed. Stricken, Loki wrapped one of the furs around his shoulders and huddled on the hearth of the great fireplace, certain that they would soon come for him too. He barely ate, his stomach tight with worry, and sleep eluded him almost completely. His one remaining joy were the tiny ice sculptures that came with his meals. They had been different animals the last several times; stretching cats, fish with swirling tails, even a horse in mid-stride.

After more than a week of empty solitude, Loki was surprised when Hyndla appeared after a servant had cleared away his evening meal. He'd eaten very little and he was beginning to feel light-headed.

"Come with me," she commanded, her rough voice booming against the walls and Loki's ears.

He followed her out of the chamber, his stomach twisting painfully with the fear that he was finally being taken to his death. The Prince had taken everything from the room after all, indicating that he had no intention of ever returning. Growing increasingly anxious, he hurried to keep up with Hyndla's longer stride through the maze of passages and corridors, climbing up stairs with difficulty. He was weak and dizzy from lack of nourishment, but didn't dare call out or ask her for aid. At the top of the stairs, she led him onto an enclosed stone bridge with tall, arched crystal windows that swept out into space to meet a tall, cylindrical tower. He felt the icy fingers of the endless winter through the panes. A large set of ornately decorated doors were at the other end of the bridge. She opened them with ease, though he could barely reach the iron handles, and motioned for him to enter. 

The interior of the tower chamber was windowless, which meant it was significantly warmer than his previous accommodations, with a large fireplace and a semi-private bath area. Around him, the walls were almost completely lined with bookshelves filled to bursting. There was a large bed opposite the fireplace and he recognized the trunks of his belongings brought from Asgard at the foot of the bed. A large, comfortable chair sat beside a narrow desk, creating a cozy place to read or study. There was a stone pitcher and a tray of food on the desk, mostly heavy slices of bread, salted meat, and the rich cheese he'd grown used to. Furs were spread over the floor to provide insulation from the cold stone. To his left, he saw another, smaller door.

"The Prince is displeased that you have not been eating, Loki." Hyndla waved him toward the desk. "You would be well to do so before he returns."

He tensed. "Has he been away?"

"He has been traveling," she answered vaguely. "He has left gifts for you. One is behind that door," she inclined her head in that direction. "The second is on the desk." She gave him a hard look. "I will return to ensure you have eaten."

Left alone in the new space, he walked dazedly to the desk and plucked up a piece of dark bread. There was an oddly lumpy square of dark blue velvet folded beside the tray. Chewing slowly, and then taking a second slice when he finished the first, he stared down at cloth. In truth, nothing the Prince had done made any sense. He expected punishment and, instead, he'd been moved to a more comfortable room, his belongings had been returned, and he'd been given gifts. Tentatively, he reached down to peel the corner of the fabric back. Nestled in the folds of the fabric, a silver circlet gleamed in the firelight. Blue and clear stones twinkled amidst the swirling metalwork. He frowned, puzzled. Was this intended to be a crown of some kind? A symbol of his station as the Prince's husband, perhaps.

Hoping the second gift would make more sense, he took another slice of bread and tried the other door. Beyond it lay another sweeping bridge, this one narrower than the other. He realized the tower had an outer wall of glass or crystal windows, enough that he could walk the diameter of the tower itself and see in all directions. With more apprehension than excitement, he ventured out onto the bridge to see where it led. Another door was sized perfectly for him rather than a Jotun, as the other had been; it opened with surprising ease and he stepped out onto a balcony platform in the largest library he had ever seen. Eyes wide with wonder, he took in the stories of bookshelves and the myriad of staircases and walkways that crossed amongst them. He couldn't even see the far end and, even several hundred feet up, he was only halfway to the full height of the cavernous space. The Great Library on Asgard would fit into this one twice over, with room to spare. Bewildered by the unexpected thoughtfulness of the Prince, Loki retreated back across the bridge. 

He stopped halfway when a blaze of green and yellow light streaked across the sky above him, falling in undulating waves in a brilliant, otherworldly display. Transfixed by the sight, he watched the dancing lights until his skin turned gooseflesh and he had to hurry into the inner tower chamber to warm himself. His appetite returning, he quickly devoured the rest of the food that had been left for him.

True to her word, Hyndla returned later that evening to clear away the tray and refill the pitcher of water. Loki had curled himself into the chair with a book, one of the furs from the bed over his legs. 

"Are you pleased with your gifts, Loki of Asgard?" she asked.

"Yes, of course," he said quickly, setting the book aside. "Though I cannot help but wonder why the Prince would go to such effort as this."

"It is not so difficult to understand."

"I'm not expected to survive here. There is no reason for him to do any of this." His words were pointed, though he attempted to speak them without pride.

Hyndla was quiet, standing at the door for so long that Loki thought she'd chosen not to respond. Finally, she reached for the handle, giving him a slight nod. "The Prince is not his father. If you would know his reasons, you should ask him."

His old worries crept back in. "When will he return?" 

"On the morrow."

It was difficult to concentrate on the book once she'd left, knowing the Prince would soon return. There was a swirl of conflicting emotions inside him. He feared the Prince's anger and dreaded the pain of his marriage bed, but there was a strange pleasantness associated with the gifts and the Prince's kisses. His fear of reprisal had overtaken his thoughts for days, but those were easier thoughts to hold than the memories of rough, blue hands caressing his skin. To allow himself to be bedded was one thing, to _enjoy_ the touch of a Jotun - to wish for pleasure at the Prince's hands - was entirely another.

Despite his unquiet thoughts, Loki slept warmly and soundly that night.

**

"You made my men, some of the most highly trained professionals in the world, look like a bunch of minimum wage mall cops. That's hurtful." The man in the dark suit stood before Thor. "In my experience, it takes someone who's received similar training to do what you did to them. Why don't you tell me where you received our training? Pakistan, Chechnya, Afganistan? No, you strike me more as the soldier of fortune type. Where was it? South Africa. Certain groups pay very well for a good mercenary like you. Who are you?"

Thor barely heard the words, though they meant little to him regardless. He had never felt so alone as this, never so abandoned and _inadequate_. 

The man continued speaking. "One way or another, we find out what we need to know. We're good at that." A sound from the device in his pocket distracted him momentarily. "Don't go anywhere."

As the door slid closed behind the man in the suit, Thor was shocked to see his mother standing suddenly in the space where the man had been. She wore a deep golden gown, sharply tailored at the waist and hips, and her long, golden curls were swept up into a neat bun.

Thor thought he'd never seen anything more beautiful. "Mother, what are you doing here?"

"My son. I had to see you." She smiled but did not come to him. An illusion then, cast from Asgard and unable to interact with the physical world. "How are you?"

"I am well enough," he began, hope beating bright in his chest. "What's happened? Is it Loki? Let me explain to Father..."

"He cannot help you now, Thor," she said quietly. 

"What?"

Her blue eyes were serious and full of sorrow. "Your father has fallen into the Odinsleep and I fear he may never awaken. We were unprepared. Your banishment, sacrificing your brother to Jotunheim; it was more than he could bear."

A wrenching in Thor's chest snuffed out his hope. This was his fault. Without the All-Father, without even Loki to take the throne in his stead, Asgard would be left vulnerable to attack and chaos. "Can I come home?"

She shook her head slowly. "I cannot undo what your father has done. If there is a way, you must discover it for yourself."

"Mother, please."

"You must not give up, Thor," she insisted, smiling for the first time. "You father always has a purpose in what he does, but you must do this alone."

"And Loki, what of him? Have you heard..." He gulped, not wanting to voice aloud his fears that his brother was already dead at Laufey's hands.

"I am doing everything in my power to see your brother returned to Asgard." Her eyes darted toward the door and he recognized the footsteps of the man in the suit returning.

"Thank you, Mother, for coming." He smiled weakly and watched her fade away. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye?" the man said. "I just got back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hoping to post Ch 3 and Ch 4 (in which Loki and Steiv have ~~had~~ an actual conversation about their ridiculous marriage) today but...technology gremlins ate Ch 4. :(


	4. Chapter 4

Loki spent his morning and much of the afternoon in thorough investigation of his new living quarters. A good night's sleep and his returned appetite gave him renewed energy, and renewed hope that he might find an escape from his imprisonment. He was determined not to spend the rest of his days in a frozen wasteland.

He ventured into the library several times, keeping well clear of any Jotun he saw visiting the stacks. In his passages, he often stopped to watch the dancing lights above, mesmerized by their beauty. Jotunheim was, indeed, a place of strange wonders.

As for the Prince's other gift, he tucked the mysterious silver circlet into a drawer of the desk, wrapped carefully in the velvet cloth. Perhaps it served a ceremonial purpose that would become clear later, though he wondered what it could be when his marriage had been relatively informal. Though, it was possible the Prince merely wanted to give him jewels as a bribe, in exchange for his compliance. Still, it was an odd gift that left him puzzled.

After the evening meal had come and gone with still no sign of the Prince, Loki began to pace worriedly in front of the fireplace. The Prince was merely late; his delay did not necessarily mean that he bore Loki any ill will or that something untoward had happened to him, leaving Loki alone and vulnerable to any Jotun who wished him harm. He attempted to quiet those fears by running a bath, thinking to at least get that step over with, since the Prince would surely wish to come to their bed when he returned.

He frowned, realizing that he didn't remember the Prince ever sleeping in the bed. He'd always woken alone in the mornings. When the bath began to cool, he climbed out and dried himself near the fire to keep from getting chilled. He dressed in a simple tunic and leggings, easily enough removed. He intended to take every care to show the Prince that he would give no resistance. His hair was still damp when he heard the familiar sound of the latch on the door. He brushed at the stubborn curls, tugging them behind his ears, and stood with his back straight as a rod. 

Hyndla opened the door, carrying a small tray, and behind her came the Prince. He had a pack slung over one shoulder, which he set beside the hearth without a word before heading toward the bath. Loki thought he looked weary, though it was admittedly difficult to tell. Once Hyndla retreated, closing the door behind her, the silence in the space weighed as heavily as a great bear's pelt draped over his shoulders. His gaze averted, but watching out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a stiffness in the Prince's motion as he climbed into the tub with the water still running. He chewed at the inside of his lip, doubting the proper course of action.

He moved to the desk and glanced at the tray Hyndla had left behind. There was the usual jug of mead, two cups, and a plate of salted meats and cheese. In one corner, he saw a small ice sculpture of an open book, perfectly sized to fit in the palm of his hand and so delicately crafted that he could read the writing on the pages; a portion of a children's fable. He resolved to pester Hyndla until she revealed the maker.

Thinking to make himself useful, he filled the two cups and carried them to the bath. He set one of them on the top step where the Prince could reach it easily.

"Was your journey well, Prince?"

The Prince's eyes remained closed. "I do have a _name_ , Loki. You may use it."

"I wish no disrespect." That was a lie. He'd refused because he didn't want to think of the Prince as anything but that, a nameless Prince of Jotunheim to whom Loki was a bound prisoner.

"I am your husband, not your Master," the Prince sighed tiredly.

"There is little difference-"

"There is every difference." The Prince opened his eyes, turning his head to meet Loki's gaze. "I do not own you, Loki. I am bound to you, as you are bound to me. We are equal. I cannot take from you what I am not willing to give you in return. You speak as though marriage between Asgardians is slavery, that one must serve the other."

"If you wish for me to call you by your name, I will do so."

"I wish for you to speak freely with me and you refuse," he huffed out a breath. "I cannot read your mind, Loki."

A spark of indignation flared in Loki's throat. "You expect me to speak freely, yet I cannot be certain I will not be put to death for what I might say. Thrown out into the cold to freeze or left here in this tower to starve." With unexpected courage, he continued before the Prince could raise a word of protest. "When I say something you dislike, you storm from the room and do not return for days."

The Prince scowled for a moment, but finally inclined his head slightly toward Loki. "You will not be punished for speaking your mind, you have my oath. If you wish to talk, I will hear you out."

"When you left, they took everything, my books, my clothes. You abandoned me for days with nothing but my own thoughts for company. I could not be blamed for believing the worst, could I? Then you return, without having told me you were leaving or where you were going or if you even intended to return at all." He stopped himself from speaking further, pursing his lips. "I cannot read your mind either."

Brow furrowing, the Prince frowned. "You and your belongings were to be brought here once it was ready for you. You should not have been left with nothing. All under my command know that I will not tolerate any mistreatment of you by their actions or their neglect."

"But you cannot always be here to ensure they obey, can you?" Loki challenged, still deeply shaken by the days of fear and loneliness.

"Must we do nothing but fight, Loki?" the Prince murmured.

He thought fighting preferable to the other activity the Prince seemed to enjoy with him. "Our very Realms do not tend to remain at peace for long, surely you didn't expect us to be any different?"

The Prince's smile surprised him. "I suppose not. We are very different, you and I. More different than I had realized."

For a moment, the impossible hope that the Prince no longer wished to be married to him sprang to life and Loki's heart beat furiously at the idea. If the Prince determined that he no longer wanted Loki, perhaps they would allow him to return to Asgard. He clung to that hope, nearly afraid to breathe. 

"Is this more suited to your liking?" The Prince gestured to the space around them, reaching for his cup of mead as he did. "Have you made use of the library?"

"Yes. It is," he hesitated. The tower was warmer and cozy with furs, comfortable furniture, and an enormous library mere steps away. He thought of Hyndla's advice that he ask the Prince what his motives were himself. "And the crown. It is lovely, truly. Though I do not understand."

The Prince sipped unhurriedly at his mead. "What don't you understand?"

"Why? The gifts, this room. You needn't have done any of this."

"Because you cannot escape me and ask only that I not beat or starve you?" The Prince shook his head, a low growl rumbling in his throat. "You must truly think me a monster to have such low expectations."

He blanched, thinking of the pain he endured every time the Prince bedded him. "I did not mean to offend."

Water splashed up against the stone as the Prince shifted. He reached out for Loki, catching the edge of his tunic and tugging him forward until he had to sit down on the top step or fall into the bath himself. "Join me."

This had been the longest conversation they'd had without the Prince storming out of the room, though that was likely only because he was bathing and too weary from his journey. Hoping to maintain whatever spell was keeping peace between them, Loki stripped out of his clothing and eased into the bath. He'd expected the Prince to position him as he wished, as he'd done before. He hadn't expected the Prince to pull him close and cradle Loki against his side, his head resting on the Prince's shoulder. Loki could feel the swirling ridges of the Prince's skin beneath his cheek. Awkwardly, he extended his left arm over the Prince's torso, uncertain what else he should do with it.

Silence stretched on, the Prince content to do nothing more than absently caress Loki's hip with his thumb. The warmth of the water and the steadiness of the Prince conspired to lull him into a sense of calm. Without thinking, he began to draw the tip of his left index finger along the star patten in the center of the Prince's chest.

"I do not find you ugly, Loki, as you find me," the Prince said suddenly, his voice low. Loki's stomach twisted a little, not unpleasantly, and reminded him of the Prince's kisses. "You have magic. You could change me, make me appear as...someone else. If you wished."

A green-gold shimmer spread out from the star, sweeping pale skin over the blue until the Prince was colored as an Asgardian; his eyes faded from red to a bright, intense blue; pale hair turned golden as sunlight. The lines of his skin could still be seen, ever so faintly, like the silver of a faded scar. Holding up his arm, the Prince stared at this new skin in wonder.

"This," Loki said softly, "is a lie." He touched the Prince's skin again and the illusion collapsed in a shimmer of cascading energies.

"If a lie would please you, I will bear it."

"Why do you wish to please me? It does not matter if you do or not." His frustration was born of confusion rather than anger. The Prince did not lie or manipulate him; he seemed incapable of the kind of deception that came so easily to Loki. It was as though the Prince expected Loki to know and understand his intentions and was unable to communicate them. The offer of allowing Loki to mask his appearance with an illusion was startling and unsettling.

In answer, the Prince only sighed, turning his head to brush his lips over Loki's hair. He resumed making slow strokes over Loki's hip with his thumb and set aside the cup of mead to lay his other hand over Loki's left arm, drawing small arcs along his bicep.

"Pr...Steiv," Loki amended quickly. "My very survival in your Realm depends on whether or not I please _you_. I understand this. It is not...I do not think you a monster. I merely know my place." Countless times, Thor had reminded him of his _place_ in Asgard, which was forever beneath and behind Thor himself. It had stung every time, but at least he'd grown used to submission.

"If you continue talking, Loki, we will end up fighting," the Prince said dryly.

Loki's temper flared again. "If you would prefer to finish bathing and bed me as if I were a common mare, as _always_ , then by all means, get it over with."

He knew immediately that he'd crossed the line, but felt more triumph than guilt. The Prince hauled him up out of the water and out of the bath by his arm, then bent to hoist Loki over his shoulder, carrying him across the room and tossing him roughly down onto the bed. Defiantly, Loki set his jaw and rolled over to come to his hands and knees, as much of a taunt as anything else.

"On your back," the Prince commanded.

He did as he was told, his stomach lurching with terror when he saw the Prince approach the bed with a coil of slender rope in his hands. He tried to force himself to apologize or explain, but he didn't know if apologies would make his punishment less or more. Tense, but too afraid to protest, he said nothing as the Prince took his wrists in one hand and bound them lightly with the rope, then wound the rope loosely around a decorative ballast carving in the headboard. A thin, dark strip of velvet brushed against Loki's chest. He watched the Prince pull it taut between his fingers, reaching up to lay it over Loki's eyes. The sound in his throat, like a strangled whimper, came unbidden. He froze; rigid, terrified, as the Prince blind-folded him. With his arms bound above his head, he was vulnerable and unable to defend himself.

Fists clenched tight, Loki tried to steady his breathing, anticipating the worst. Without his sight, he was vividly aware of every sensation in his body, from the soothing, gentle strokes the Prince was making along the soft skin of his forearm to the chaste kisses over his cheek and the line of his jaw. There was no hurry in the Prince's touch, as though he meant to savor every inch of Loki's body. Loki shivered, frightened but also confused. Strong fingers swept along his shoulder and behind his neck to cradle his head, breath catching in his throat when the Prince's lips brushed against his. The kiss was brief and light, followed by another and another.

As they kissed, Loki felt other parts of his body light up in strange new ways. He was suddenly very conscious of the way his legs were spread and how the Prince knelt between them. Against the furs, the muscles of his lower back tightened, quivering in a way that made it necessary to move and shift his hips. The Prince's tongue slipped between his lips, sending a jolt of the strange, buzzing warmth down his spine to his groin. Tension gave way to arousal, just as alarming and twice as confusing.

Shifting from his neck, Loki felt the Prince's hand over his chest, following the curves of his ribs and tuck of his waist. He gripped Loki's hip for a moment, his thumb skimming over the sensitive skin of his low belly, then reversed the caress before Loki could react. The second time, Loki couldn't help the instinctive, traitorous roll of his hips up into the Prince's touch. Short of breath, he turned his head away to gasp, open mouthed. The Prince seized the opportunity to begin kissing the side of Loki's neck, mouthing at tendons stretched tight and the curve of Loki's jaw. 

"What are...you," he whispered nonsensically. 

The Prince's voice rumbled in his ear. "Why do you resist pleasure, Loki? I wish to please you. _Let me_."

"I don't-" His thoughts scattered when the Prince's lips brushed along this collarbone, then down his chest, tongue flattening against Loki's right nipple in a gentle, slow lick. 

The tension in Loki low back spread down the back of his thighs; his cock was swelling against his belly and suddenly, every kiss and caress seemed to radiate out in search of it. It was wrong; he shouldn't _want_ the Prince's hands to move closer, or his lips. He shuddered at the thought of how the Prince's lips might feel, the swipe of his tongue along the length. His mouth was suddenly dry. Being out of control, _feeling_ out of control, wasn't a luxury he could afford. Not here, not when the Prince could do anything he wanted and Loki wouldn't be able to stop him. Why would the Prince bind his hands other than to prevent Loki from fighting back?

"Loki," the Prince began, seeming to sense Loki's fear. He continued to caress Loki's side. "What lovers have you had before me?"

He swallowed against the dryness in his throat. "I told you before that I've had no lovers and I spoke true. If you were looking for one skilled in lovemaking, you chose very poorly indeed." The blindfold was a kindness now. He didn't want to see the expression on the Prince's face. "I do not want your pity, nor your mockery. I've had enough of both."

"You told me you'd had no other men, that is not the same as no lovers at all." His lips were soft against Loki's skin, leaving kisses down the line of his sternum. "How is it you learn to mate on Asgard?"

"I don't know," Loki snapped, frustrated and feeling as though the Prince was needling at an old, familiar bruise. "If it's so important to you, then you should've picked Thor. He's bedded near half the women of Asgard already and will certainly finish the job when-" he cut himself off before he revealed Thor's banishment.

He had no desire to talk about how he had never been the _desired_ one, how his few attempts at wooing anyone, feeble as they were, had been utterly for naught; unless he counted the laughter of Thor and his friends and jeering from the other warriors as successful measures. He'd been content to focus his energy elsewhere and it irked him endlessly that the Prince seemed near obsessed with sexual pleasure. Maybe if Loki hadn't been so clumsy in his attempts at courtship, he might know ways to ease his own pain when the Prince bedded him. That only made his face burn hotter with shame and humiliation.

"I did not realize you were...innocent." 

Loki shivered when the Prince's hand cupped the side of his face, blue skin rough and calloused from hard labor and combat. Still, he lifted his chin stubbornly. "I'm not a child."

"But you did not know to tell me that I was hurting you, did you?" Gently, as if Loki were made of glass, the Prince kissed him.

"I thought..." he whispered, bewildered.

"You thought pain was to be expected."

Mutely, Loki nodded. His head was growing fuzzy again and the churning of his stomach was less fear and more of the odd pleasantness from the way the Prince was caressing his skin. 

"Oh, _Loki_. It is no wonder you fear me." With a heavy sigh, the Prince slowly trailed his hand down Loki's neck and chest. His fingers paused at Loki's stomach. "Do not allow me to cause you pain and remain silent. Never again."

The idea that their coupling should not have been painful was incomprehensible to Loki. Suddenly, he could sense a vast gulf between what it meant to be Jotun and what it meant to be Asgardian, that gulf now stretching between him and the Prince. He licked his lips. "Why did you bind my hands?"

"You panic when I touch you."

"Tying me up was meant to make me fear you _less_?" He nearly laughed at the failure of logic behind the Prince's decision. "And covering my eyes?"

"What would you have me do?" The Prince said sharply. Loki felt the rope go tight around his wrists before it fell away and his arms were free once again, then the blind fold was removed as well. The Prince tossed them away from the bed and shifted to his side, scowling. "You find me repulsive. I thought it would be easier for you if you couldn't see me. You won't use your magic to change my appearance and you feel that taking you from behind is treating you as a mare. What is left to me?"

Loki's cheeks burned. Rubbing his wrists where the rope had been, he moved to sit up against the headboard. "You could find someone else. You would have no complaint from me, if you took a lover." The words left an unexpectedly bitter taste on his tongue. 

He expected anger and saw the Prince's eyes flash, his jaw going tight, but he gave no answer. With a shake of his head, the Prince left the bed, returning with his cup and refilling it with mead. He watched Loki with a serious frown as he drank. Loki shifted the blankets to cover himself, waiting for the Prince to dress and stomp out of the tower.

"No," the Prince finally said, his voice flat. "You are my husband. I am bound to you."

"You should've thought of that before you married me," Loki shot back.

The Prince glowered at him. "I can do nothing that pleases you."

"Stop trying to please me!" He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to recover his composure. "What did you think would happen? That we would fall in love and live happily ever after? We barely know each other. You're gone much of the time, this is the most we've ever spoken and even after you've taken me to bed, you leave. Every morning when I wake, you're gone and I'm alone. I have lived in fear and pain and isolation since I arrived and I...I _hate_ it here." He cut himself off before he could declare that he hated the Prince as well; he wasn't stupid and he wasn't certain that was true.

Weariness in his every motion, the Prince set aside his cup and retrieved the pack he'd carried on his return. He emptied out the contents onto the desk, including large books bound in dark leather, several small jars, and a roll of parchment tied with a strip of cloth. Once the pack was emptied, he circled around the bed to the other side.

Loki bit at his lower lip, trying to gauge the Prince's intentions. He was surprised and puzzled when the Prince merely settled himself beneath the blankets and turned his back to Loki. Carefully, Loki eased down into the bed, trying to disturb the Prince as little as possible as he got comfortable. It was strange to feel the presence of another body in the bed after so many nights alone. He stayed on his back, watching the firelight play over the stones of the tower ceiling. 

"Steiv?" he whispered. 

"Yes, Loki?"

He voiced the question that had been on his mind since his arrival. "Why did you ask Laufey to bargain for me?" 

After a long silence, the Prince rolled over to face Loki, his blue skin dark with shadow. "What answer can I give that will satisfy you? Is there one that will lessen your hatred for my people? If there is, simply tell me and I will give it." 

"Have you any love for Asgard?"

"If the rest of Asgard is as stubborn and strong-willed as you, it is no wonder there is no peace between our Realms."

Loki started, surprised by the Prince's retort. "I am not."

"Were you not raised knowing that your marriage would be arranged? Is that not how it is on Asgard?"

"Is that all I am? An exchange of goods?"

"You," the Prince began pointedly, rising up on his elbow to lean toward Loki. "And your brother came to my Realm seeking war. You killed many I have known my whole life. Fought beside them, trained beside them. They are gone now. Because of _you_. Despite that, I have welcomed you, given you a place here, and attempted to ease the loss of your home. Tell me what I have done to earn your hatred, beyond the color of my skin."

Loki narrowed his eyes. "Other than leaving me alone in an empty room for days and causing me excruciating pain?"

With a growl, the Prince yanked the blankets down. He straddled Loki's legs, pinning them against the bed. Bending over, he mouthed at Loki's cock, laving the head with his tongue before taking it completely in his mouth. Shocked by the sudden pleasure, Loki's hands flew to the Prince's shoulders, trying to shove him away, but the Prince caught his wrists and held them fast. 

"What are you doing?" He fought against the Prince's grip but quickly gave up. 

The sensations caused by the Prince's tongue working over the underside of his cock were overwhelming. As his cock swelled, the Prince began to lick and suck at the shaft. Quivering in his lower back rapidly turned to rolling tension and pleasure up along his spine and down the backs of his thighs. Each wave had him bucking his hips up to meet the Prince's mouth and he couldn't look away, transfixed by the contrast of dark blue lips around his cock. The Prince looked up to meet Loki's eyes, the tip of Loki's cock glistening against his lower lip, nearly slipping away before he drew it into his mouth again. He'd never felt anything like _this_. Breathless, shuddering, he moaned and collapsed against the bed in surrender. The tension coiled tighter and tighter, pulling his whole body taut. He barely realized when the Prince let go of his wrists, no longer wishing to push him away. He was straining to feel more, suddenly desperate to have the Prince's hands, rough and calloused as they were, on his skin. 

The Prince's breath tickled against his belly. All the air went out of his lungs when he looked down, realizing his cock was wholly sheathed in the Prince's mouth and throat. A torn, guttural cry wrenched its way out of him, his mouth open and eyes shut so tightly he saw stars; the building tension finally gave way to a rush of heat and release. He could feel the Prince swallowing around him, sending aftershocks of pleasure nearly too intense to bear through his body. There wasn't enough thought left in him to resist when the Prince eased him onto his side and pressed against his back, pulling the blankets back up over them both.

"I can give you pleasure too, Loki," the Prince murmured, gently combing Loki's hair aside to kiss the back of his neck. "If you'll let me."

His emotions roiled and churned, further stirred up by the Prince's choice to remain near him after such an intimate act. All he'd been taught about the Jotnar, and about sexual pleasure between men, meant that he should feel ashamed, degraded, for allowing the Prince to touch him and moreso for taking pleasure in it. Instead, it seemed a crack of light had appeared in the darkness around him.

After time had passed and the Prince seemed to have no interest in any further intercourse, only holding Loki and occasionally kissing his neck or shoulder, Loki found his mind filled with new questions.

He cleared his throat, hesitating. "Are marriages often arranged here?"

"Always."

"Then you do not marry for love?" There was a long silence. He thought perhaps the Prince had fallen asleep when he finally answered.

"How can you love someone without being bonded to them?" The Prince asked, genuinely puzzled. "Love grows as a vine. It will not bear fruit for many years. You cannot have the fruit before you have nurtured the vine. You may hope for love but without a bond, it cannot grow."

Loki frowned. It seemed rather backwards to his thinking, but he supposed it would seem equally backwards to the Prince to wish for love before marriage rather than love that grew out of a marriage. No wonder it hadn't bothered the Prince that Loki didn't love him or want him, he must've assumed Loki would come to love him.

He let his eyes fall closed, reluctantly allowing himself to relax into the Prince's embrace. "We come from very different worlds."

"Do you wish to see more of my Realm?" Pushing up on his elbow, the Prince leaned in to kiss Loki's shoulder. "It is cold and dark compared to Asgard. I didn't think you would wish to, but if you do, I will take you."

"The lights in the sky..."

"We call them aurora."

"They're beautiful." He shivered at the way the Prince was drawing along his arm. Although he appreciated the offer, he couldn't imagine what there would be on Jotunheim that he might wish to see. It seemed a nearly endless expanse of ice and rock.

"Do you not have them in Asgard?"

Loki shook his head. He shifted to settle onto his back, which brought him into an unexpectedly intimate embrace with the Prince. "Asgard has many wonders, but none like that."

"There is a peak not far from here where you can see the whole of Jotunheim, or near to it. You can watch the aurora all around you, in every direction. Would you like me to take you?" He traced his fingertips along Loki's collarbones. "It would be difficult for you to climb, but I could carry you to the top."

He studied the Prince's face. "Where do you go when you leave?"

"Many places."

"That isn't an answer."

"You are very curious and I am weary." Warm breath ghosted over Loki's cheek when the Prince nuzzled at his jaw. "If I swear to answer your questions in the morning, will you let me sleep?"

"You intend to stay? Until morning."

Shifting back, the Prince settled his temple against the heel of his palm, watching Loki thoughtfully. "I can sleep elsewhere, if you would like."

Loki hurried to reassure him. "No, it's fine."

The Prince reached to cup the side of Loki's face, the pad of his thumb rubbing along the curve of Loki's lower lip. "You give me lies instead of answers more often than not. You tell me what you believe I wish to hear and you do not tell me what I need to know." He lowered his head until their foreheads touched. "I would never mean to hurt you, Loki. Never. If nothing else, you must believe that." With a whispered sigh, the Prince pressed a soft kiss to Loki's lips before he stretched out again and rolled onto his stomach, one arm draped over Loki's waist. He prodded the pillow until it suited him, eyes closing.

Unexpectedly, sleep was slow to arrive for Loki. He dozed fitfully and more often than not, found himself watching the firelight flicker over the stones, the shadows growing deeper and the air turning cold as the fire burned lower. When he realized he was shivering, he slipped from the bed to add more fuel to the fire, wrapping himself in one of the furs. Stoking the fire during the night was something he hadn't done since arriving on Jotunheim, not even the previous night in the same chamber, and he wondered at what factor had made the difference. Surely the Prince could not pull the heat from the air by his very presence. His thoughts returned to everything he didn't know about the Jotnar and about the Prince. They were unsettling thoughts; how much of Asgard's teachings about the Jotnar were wrong?

Wide awake now, Loki cast a glance toward the sleeping Prince before he strayed to the desk to investigate. He checked each of the small jars, loosening the caps and sniffing at their contents. They were filled with different oils, with very little scent to them and a smooth, silky texture. One had the slightest nutty odor that tugged at him with vague familiarity. Cooking oils, perhaps, for traveling. 

When he unrolled the bundle of parchment, he discovered it was a new collection of poetry written in the same familiar hand. Pleased, despite himself, that the Prince had remembered to bring him more poems, he lit one of the large candles and settled into the chair to read them. These were not love poems, but rather great sweeping epics about traveling amongst the stars, across Yggdrasil's branches, to discover new worlds. He was struck by the strong desire in the words, not to conquer but to seek and learn. All his life, he'd been taught that the Jotnar had little care beyond conquest, but this poet clearly valued knowledge and beauty far above war.

Loki fell asleep with the rolls of parchment held loosely in his arms and dreamed of Yggdrasil drenched in the green curtains of light of Jotunheim's sky. When he woke again, his neck complaining from being at a wrong angle for too long, he saw the fire burning brightly and the Prince seated at the desk, studying one of the large books. As he watched, the Prince added careful notes to the page with a bone quill. It was an odd juxtaposition to see a Jotun bent over a book, though Loki thought it shouldn't be now that he'd seen what passed as a library for them.

"Thank you," Loki said, his voice rough with sleep. "For the poems." He carefully bundled up the parchment again.

"It is a mystery to me that you enjoy them, but if they pl-" the Prince stopped, a small smile at the corner of his mouth. "I am glad you enjoy them. Are you rested enough? That is hardly a comfortable place to sleep."

No less of a mystery than the fact that the Prince seemed determined to remain in Loki's presence and spend time with him. Self-conscious, Loki pulled the fur tighter around his naked body when he stood. The Jotnar were far more open with nudity and the Prince would hardly care, might even enjoy seeing Loki bare as he walked. His face flushed with heat at the thought of the Prince watching him with desire, his mind immediately returning to the memory of the Prince's mouth around his cock. Shivering, he hurried to dress and comb his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it.

He was saved having to resort to idle chatter by the arrival of Hyndla and another servant bearing the morning meal for him and the Prince. Suddenly glad that he'd chosen to dress, he waited for them to leave and for the Prince to ask him to join. They hadn't eaten a meal together since the ceremonial bread of their wedding, which hardly set an enjoyable precedent.

"You need not wait for my permission, Loki," the Prince said, amusement light in his voice.

Feeling foolish, Loki approached the desk to retrieve the tray of food nearest to him. He frowned when he saw there was no ice sculpture on either of them. With a pang of disappointment, he checked all four corners and behind the jug of water, thinking it may have slipped into a hiding place.

"Is something missing?"

"There has always been..." Loki began, glancing over the second tray in case the sculpture was there instead. "Sculptures. I don't know who makes them for me, but they are beautiful. I've grown fond of them."

The Prince reached out a hand, holding it over one of the saucers on the tray for several moments. When he pulled his hand back, there was a perfect rose made of clear ice on the saucer. The small smile still in place, he returned to his task, leaving Loki stunned and at a loss for words. He was further shocked when he glanced down at the Prince's handwriting and recognized it quite plainly as that of the poet responsible for his steadily increasing collection. For the love poems, he realized. Love poems about fresh snow and starlight and emeralds; the Prince had told him that his skin was akin to fresh snow.

"You?" Loki whispered, stunned. The sculptures, the poetry; all of it had been the Prince's work. All this time, he realized, the Prince must have been attempting to _court_ him, in his own, bizarre way. This Prince, who had loomed large as a monster and a beast in Loki's imagination, was responsible for every joy Loki had found on Jotunheim.

"I am glad you enjoy them," the Prince repeated, his tone careful and neutral.

"How? When you are gone..."

"I make them before I leave and Hyndla keeps them. Though any one of us could make them for you. Hyndla has no patience for flowers. I hoped they would help you would feel less alone."

Loki sunk down onto the chair, unable to stop staring at the Prince, whom he was beginning to think he did not know at all. His questions, which he'd thought could not possibly increase since the night before, now multiplied by thousands. Gradually, each one began to lead him back to the one question that mattered more than all of the others; the Prince's _intent_.

"Why did you ask Laufey to bargain for me?" He asked one more time.

"To bring peace to our Realms."

"I am twice the fool if I believe you. I am not worth peace. We both know that. I cannot even survive outside these walls."

"Perhaps not peace for us, Loki, but for those who come after. For the future, when the old feuds can be set aside and forgotten. When both Jotunheim and Asgard can be whole again." He leaned forward, eyes burning bright with the intensity of his determination. "I saw a way, in you, to take a step toward that peace, so I took it. And then..."

Loki frowned. "And then?"

"Then I found you to be fierce and intelligent and brave." He left the chair behind the desk, coming around to kneel at the side of the chair and reach for Loki's hand. "You are so much more than I hoped you would be. I thought, if you had shown my father's guards into Asgard, then maybe you would hear me out, maybe you would listen."

His blood ran cold. So the Prince did know he was the traitor in the House of Odin. "You are not making sense."

"No, I suppose not." The Prince took a deep breath. "Asgardians do not _change_. They have lost their ability to access their whole nature, but we have not. There was a great schism between our people. Long before my father, before your father. The Jotnar, we can still change."

Before Loki's eyes, the Prince began to transform. The lines over his skin shifted and bent, some blending together while others pulled apart. Hips widened; a new fullness rounded out his chest. Loki blinked, incredulously, and realized he was now staring at a _female_ Jotun. A thousand pieces began falling into place; a thousand questions answered. The lack of clear gender roles in their culture and the lack of restriction in marriage being the first that struck him with perfect clarity. If any Jotun could be either male or female then any marriage, any combination, would be valid.

He caught himself reaching out to touch the Prince and stopped. "Can you change at will?"

"Yes." There was a different set of vibrations in her voice, still rough and low but with a new timbre. "Some prefer to remain as one or the other for most of their lives, some change frequently. It is as natural to us as breathing and sleeping."

"There have been references and I have heard...you spoke of it." He tried to check his enthusiasm, but he had never seen anything like this. How had he not known the Jotnar were fluid? Surely Odin must know. "It's called the time of receiving. What is it?"

"I may be either male or female at will, but Jotun are only fertile during their time. It is why we have so few young ones. My mother, Farbauti, experienced only one time, resulting in my birth." Once again the lines began to shift and, in moments, the Prince as Loki knew him returned. He settled back onto his heels, his gaze sliding away. "I am nearing my time. It will be my first."

Loki stared. The Prince could not _possibly_ have dreamed up the mad, wild plot that he suspected. He thought of the snatches of conversation he'd overheard in the courtyard; the voice saying the Prince would pollute his blood with an Asgardian's. In all of Loki's scheming, he didn't think he could've come up with anything as absurd as what the Prince intended. His first reaction was revulsion, but he set that aside for cool reason. 

"You want a child," he said finally. Wanted Loki to be _father_ to the child.

The Prince nodded slowly. "A child of Jotunheim and of Asgard both. Our child."

"It is madness."

"We could unite our kingdoms, Loki. The beginning of a true alliance. A lasting peace. No more war, no more darkness. Can't you see? We have a chance. The two of us. To make a better world for both our people. How can we not try when such an opportunity is before us?"

Loki nearly laughed. A new plan was beginning to take shape in his mind, one with far grander ambitions than the mere throne of Asgard. His expression carefully schooled, he pretended to consider the Prince's plan thoughtfully. 

"Loki, I must know." The Prince transformed once more, hands clasped tightly in her lap. "Am I less ugly to you? In this form. Less repulsive? If this is more pleasing to you, even a little."

He had no answer. His mind was still reeling from everything he'd learned, which was more than he'd found in the rest of his time here and it had only taken moments. If he'd thought to ask the Prince directly, sooner, he wondered how different his life on Jotunheim could have been. Finally, he shook his head, unable to voice any sort of answer in his confusion. In truth, male and female Jotuns were so similiar in appearance that it hardly mattered.

His thoughts raced with possibilities. He needed to know what was transpiring on Asgard. If Thor remained banished; if Odin slept; if Loki could return with a _wife_ rather than a husband. He repressed a shudder of fear at the thought of fathering a half-Jotun child and, despite the Prince's optimism, he had little hope in Asgard's acceptance, not unless Loki took the throne and kept it. He had no doubt that Thor would be the first to denounce such a child as an abomination; a monster.

"When?" His voice squeaked embarrassingly. "You say it is near, but is that...days? Or perhaps longer." 

The Prince considered his question for a long time before answering. "Not as soon as days, I think. I have not experienced it before, but I'm told it is not difficult to know when it has begun."

"And Laufey?" He thought again of the voices in the courtyard. "Surely he is not pleased with your desire."

Shifting back into his male form, the Prince sighed heavily. "I have not told him."

"You cannot expect that he will allow it." Loki seized on the opportunity. "He will have me killed before he sees you bear a child that shares my blood. You cannot doubt that. He has no love for Asgard."

"I will protect you," the Prince said stubbornly.

Loki pushed himself to reach out and take the Prince's hands. "I must speak with my mother. There are...happenings in Asgard. I know very little but she will know more. If we do this, I will not be safe here. You know that. Just as you've kept me locked away for my protection, you must know that to be true. But there may be a way. Asgard's doors may be open to us. You heard the All-Father, he has no wish for war with Jotunheim." He'd been willing to sacrifice Loki for peace after all, though Loki thought sourly that it hadn't seemed a difficult sacrifice to make.

"Have I any less chance of being murdered in your Realm than you do in mine?"

"I don't know," Loki answered honestly. "Allow the Queen to guide us in this, please. If we have her blessing, and that of the All-Father, none will harm you." He knew perfectly well the All-Father would not give his blessing, but if Odin was not awake then it would not matter.

"Very well. I will send word to Asgard."

"Thank you." On an impulse, Loki leaned forward and pressed a shy kiss to the Prince's lips, feeling his cheeks flush as he did so. When he pulled back, the Prince's eyes were wide with wonder, an openly hopeful expression on his face.

"Eat with me." Standing, the Prince retrieved one of the trays of food and brought it back, resting it on the wide cushion of the chair. "I have no need to travel for a few days' time. And it is expected that I will remain closer to home as I near my time. I would spend this time with you, Loki, if you will allow me to stay with you. I wish to hear how you have been."

It was, Loki thought, the Prince's way of telling Loki that he wanted them to get to know each other, far long after it would've been useful for both of them to have done so. "My days are quiet here. I while them away with reading most of the time. You will undoubtedly be bored."

"Tell me of your magic. How does it work?"

"What magic have you here? That I might try to draw comparisons." He sidestepped the Prince's curiosity, hoping his dodge wouldn't be noticed. The Jotnar's ability to control ice was undoubtedly a form of magic, but he'd see little else to indicate further abilities. He also had no desire to give the Prince all of his secrets.

"It is written," the Prince began, breaking off pieces of cheese and salt meat as he spoken. "That Jotunheim's magic and Asgard's magic come from the same wellspring at Yggdrasil's roots. That Asgard's grew bight and golden under the sun, while Jotunheim's turned silver, as the moonlight on snow. Yours is the magic of daylight and fire, full of energy and vital. Ours is quiet and steady as the night, as a glacier carving down the face of a mountain. Though their common roots remain. There are many theories."

Loki forgot his hunger in witnessing the striking change that had come over the Prince. He spoke easily, eloquently, of magical theory and philosophy, moving between mythos and scholarly critique with the casual ease of long study. And to think that Loki had believed him nearly mute and dumb when he'd first arrived on Jotunheim. The Prince answered his questions easily, often providing multiple viewpoints where opinions were divided about the veracity of a particular tale and noting where in the great library that Loki might find more information for himself. He was measured in his response and Loki could suddenly see the keen, strategic intellect that he'd dismissed when he'd first found the many books on war and strategy. It was immediately clear that the Prince's goal was, and always would be, peace, not just for Jotunheim, but for all the Nine Realms.

Here, on Jotunheim, Loki had found a Prince who was far more ready for the throne than Thor would ever be and the impossibility of it left him unsteady, filled with doubts over everything he'd ever been taught about the Jotnar.

When the Prince seemed to reach a pause in his thoughts, Loki asked another difficult question. "What are you taught of Asgard?" 

The Prince smiled. "I was relieved to discover you do not have horns."

"Horns?" Loki was about to protest when he realized the Prince was being playful and teasing him. He hadn't expected to find a sense of humor behind those crimson eyes either. Unable to stop himself, Loki truly smiled for the first time since he'd come to Jotunheim and he saw the Prince's eyes grow wide with wonder once again. "What?"

"You are beautiful." The Prince's thumb traced a gentle line over Loki's knee. "My starlight."

 _My starlight_. Loki blushed, ducking his head at the endearment he'd read a dozen times in the Prince's poetry before he'd known it was meant for him. His stomach grumbled unhappily, reminding him of their food. 

“I have kept you from eating,” the Prince said ruefully. “I will leave you to it.”

“Stay,” Loki hastened to say. “I was merely distracted.” He reached for one of the slices of bread. “I would like to hear more. If you…if it’s no trouble.”

With a sly grin, the Prince motioned to the chair. “There is room enough for both of us. If you allow me to sit with you, I will tell you more.”

“Of course.” Loki shifted as far to one side as he could, steadying the tray as the Prince moved in beside him. He realized quickly that it had been a ruse for the Prince to circle his arm around Loki’s shoulder and nestle against him. Hiding a smile at the Prince’s penchant for cuddling, Loki ate carefully and pretended not to notice the Prince stroking light fingers through his hair.

The Prince’s voice rumbled close to Loki’s ear, sending not unpleasant shivers along the back of his neck. “In the beginning, there was darkness...”


End file.
